


Make Me Believe

by GhoulsnHalos (Morgawse)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Anal Sex, Dean Winchester Has Internalized Homophobia, Dean Winchester's First Time With a Man, Idiots in Love, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Public Hand Jobs, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:40:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 78,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25898332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgawse/pseuds/GhoulsnHalos
Summary: Ten years ago, Castiel Novak’s stepfather disowned him, taking from him his place as hereditary heir to the head of the Hunter and Warrior Guild. Now, he’s a self-made, and celebrated, master gem and metal smith. Castiel doesn’t believe that the God’s decide your soulmate. Until he designs what can only be a gift fit for his soul mate, who in contradiction to the etiquette, if not the laws of Neffroen, must be a man.Dean Winchester is convinced that he is a lowly, dumbass, no magic hunter who couldn’t possibly be on the same social scale as a Novak. So, why is it when he spots the jewelled torc in Castiel’s shop, Dean develops an obsession over the neckpiece and its creator? It can't be anything to do with the will of the Gods, no matter what anyone says, because that's baloney and Dean's not into men.When Castiel’s long-lost brother turns up and suggests he ought to challenge their stepfather and that Dean is destined to help Castiel rule the clan, Castiel takes some convincing. The real problem is Dean. Can Castiel with the help of family and friends convince Dean of his place by Castiel’s side? Can Dean play the part everyone expects of him to help Castiel regain his rightful place in society?
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 18
Kudos: 88
Collections: Destiel Harlequin Challenge 2020





	Make Me Believe

**Author's Note:**

> “Green eyes. No, Castiel corrected himself, peridot green eyes speckled with gold. Plump pink lips. Adorable freckles. A jawline that could cut glass. All that in one dirty-blond, tall, lean, and muscular package. Castiel was suddenly more parched than the Plains of Pystll Afon in the high summer. He looked from the man’s face to the torc on the counter in front of him and back again. It couldn’t be?
> 
> When Castiel looked at him again, the man was staring right at the torc like it was a siren calling him to his death. Then the man began backing away, eyes still glued to the torc.”
> 
> So this is my first venture into not just Destiel but writing SPN works period! It's also my longest ever fic to date. I hope you like it.
> 
> If anyone reading this has a knowledge of Welsh, or is Welsh - forgive me. I played with Welsh, Welsh place names, and ancient Welsh deities for this. It's a part of my heritage of which I am proud and have been waiting for the right moment to do something with in the fan fiction space - apparently this prompt was it!
> 
> One little piece of information about the rating on this fic, just in case those of you seeing an explicit rating were expecting tons of smut - sorry to disappoint. This isn't wall to wall smut, but there are a few explicit scenes. In reality this fic is between mature and explicit, but it's my policy to always err on the side of the higher rating. On that note, there may be a few tags I forgot - if you spot any obvious ones please let me know and I'll update. Honestly though, I don't think there's much anyone should be squicked by in this fic - but you never know.
> 
> This has been through Grammarly and several read throughs, but typos and other errors may have escaped me. Apologies if there are any.
> 
> Lastly, thanks to the Mods for setting up the DHC for another year.

Castiel’s hand lingered over the beautiful bronze torc he had finished the day before. It was set with sparkling emeralds at each end and 6 smaller green garnets glistening from their places around the circumference. He hadn’t slept more than three hours a night for the last week. Looking at the finished object, it was hard to begrudge the loss. Not when the great Goddess Branwen had shown him the design and guided his every movement until the torc had been finished. If it had happened that way to anyone else, Castiel would have told them they were insane, but he had no other reason to doubt his sanity. Never one to believe in the tall tales of an overly religious mother, Castiel had been surprised at the sudden and inexplicable need to create the perfect CalonRhodd for his Enaidffrind. Like a man possessed, he couldn’t rest until he had. He suspected that, if they were still on speaking terms, his mother would not have found his behaviour so strange. He imagined that she would have commented that, as he would turn 30 in a few weeks, it was high time that he found the one with whom the Goddess had determined he should spend his life.  


It was still early on a grey morning in that weird period when winter wasn’t fully over, but spring had not yet fully taken hold. Hardly anyone would be shopping for decorated serving wares or ceremonial items at this hour. Castiel reckoned that he had some time to polish the piece one final time, before creating a suitable display for it in the window of his shop. The customs of the merchant Planta, Dwyrain, may not have been in his ancestry, but now that he was one of them by choice, Castiel had determined to follow their ways. An artisan shopkeeper ready to find their lifelong Enaidffrind would place it in their shop window in the belief that it would draw their partner to them. He had a design in mind to display the torc. Something simple that would allow the beauty of the torc to shine.  


Castiel was so focused on the CalonRhodd and how to create the window display that he jumped when the bell above the door chimed.  


“Can I help you?” he asked on autopilot, wanting to know as quickly as possible if this interruption required his full attention or not. He hadn’t looked up from his finest work to date yet. But he did when he heard the deep voice reply.  


“I hope so. Looking for a new hunting knife. One that will be useful at the Feast of Gwyl Fawryn.”  


Green eyes. No, Castiel corrected himself, peridot green eyes speckled with gold. Plump pink lips. Adorable freckles. A jawline that could cut glass. All that in one dirty blond, tall, lean, and muscular package. Castiel was suddenly more parched than the Plains of Pystll Afon in the high summer. He looked from the man’s face to the torc on the counter in front of him and back again. It couldn’t be?  


When Castiel looked at him again, the man was staring right at the torc like it was a siren calling him to his death. Then the man began backing away, eyes still glued to the torc, until he bumped up against the open shelving of jewelled goblets and serving plates.  


“I’m afraid you won’t find what you’re looking for over there,” Castiel said. “All the knives are up here to the right of the counter in that display case. Was there any particular design or type of handle you were looking for?”  


Castiel tried not to stare at the way the man’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. That would be rude, considering he didn’t even know the stranger’s name yet. The only thing Castiel could guess was that the man was a member of Planta Gorllewin, a hunter or warrior, as was Castiel by birth.  


“Uh, right…yes…um,” the man stuttered.  
He was even more attractive when he was flustered. Even in the half-light of the shop, Castiel could see that the man was still trying desperately, and failing, to avert his gaze from the CalonRhodd as he made his way towards the knife display case.  


Castiel came out from behind the counter and walked over to the case, keys in hand ready to open it should the stranger wish to get a closer look at any of them. “I don’t bite – honest!”  


The man’s face relaxed into a smile. “Sorry, I’m not sure what’s come over me.” He stuck his hand out as he reached Castiel.  


“Dean Winchester.”  


Castiel took Dean’s hand, “Castiel Novak. Owner of this establishment.”  


“Oh, I know who you are, Cas. Who around here doesn’t? It isn’t every day that a warrior becomes a gem master is it?”  


Castiel didn’t know whether to be affronted or flattered at the statement. As for the nickname – Cas? No-one in his life had called him that. Only one person had ever given him a nickname, his older brother Gabriel insisted on calling him Cassie, but Castiel hadn’t seen Gabriel in over twenty years. He didn’t even know if his brother was alive or had suffered the same fate as his father and their two brothers - Lucifer and Michael.  


“Well, Mr Winchester, do you see anything in here that fits your requirements?”  


“Dean, please call me Dean. Mr Winchester feels like my father.” Dean shuddered at the mention of his father. Quickly he schooled his face and began scanning the two shelves of ceremonial knives.  


Castiel glanced at the torc still sitting there on the counter. Perhaps it would never make it into the window of his shop.  


Dean drew Castiel’s attention back to the knives, “Please can I get a closer look at those two?” Dean pointed to two of the cheapest Castiel had on display. Neither would do Dean justice. The handles were far too plain. Both had simple leather bindings on the handles, a small carving with semi-precious stones on the pommel, one red in red the other blue. The blades were straight, not curved, and the sheaths were not patterned except for the single tiny stone at the tip which matched the pommel. To match Dean’s good looks the handle and sheath would need to be more elaborate and more heavily embellished. The blade ought to be curved, signifying a greater social status. As head of the Winchester family, Dean had a higher standing than either of his choices would indicate. The discrepancy bothered Castiel. Why was Dean so eager to devalue his social status when he was from one of the most celebrated hunter families? It made no sense. However, Balthazar had taught him that the customer is always right, so Castiel would go with whatever Dean wanted.  


Castiel unlocked the display cabinet, withdrew Dean’s chosen knives, and deliberately took them back to the counter for Dean to get a closer look at them - and of course, the torc.  


Dean turned each of them over. Studied the handle. He felt the tip of each blade. He hefted them in his palm one after the other, then gripped them in his right hand just as he would during the Hunters’ Rights at Gwyl Fawryn.  


Castiel waited silently, his eyes roving across Dean’s body. His mind was imagining all the things it really shouldn’t about what he would like to do with Dean. He was so engrossed that he almost didn’t hear Dean ask him, “Any expert opinion?”  


Castiel shook himself back to reality. “The second one. It’s better balanced in your hand, and with the dragon’s head carving and the lapis eyes on the end it’s far more becoming a man of your obvious talent at hunting.” Dragon’s head or horse’s head made little odds, although some would consider the mythical creature more exotic than the everyday mode of transport. Why Castiel had suggested that knife was because the blue of the lapis lazuli was closer to his eye colour, something Castiel hoped Dean would think of whenever he looked at the knife.  


Dean turned the most delightful shade of light pink at Castiel’s praise.  


“Everyone has heard of the Winchesters’ prowess at hunting. Your family can capture anything, as I understand it. Whether on four legs or two.”  


“Uh, of course…no one better…you know saving people, hunting things, the family business. That’s our motto…”  


Yes, Castiel thought, flushed suited Dean. It was a state that he’d love to be the cause of on a regular basis. He could already imagine several ways to ignite the flush in Dean’s cheeks along with the charming habit Dean had of biting the left corner of his bottom lip when he was unsure of himself.  


“…except it’s Sammy who’s the real genius hunter. I mean, I’m good and all – probably better technically…but he’s the one with the Hudau. Works like a charm, every time, no matter what we’re hunting. Really, it does. The only time I’ve ever seen Sammy miss his target…”  


While Dean blathered on Castiel busied himself with getting the dragon-handled knife ready for sale. He didn’t understand where his confidence had come from that Dean would pick the knife that Castiel had suggested – he just knew. He polished the blade. Ensuring that it could be smoothly extracted from its sheath. Testing to make sure that the gems wouldn’t work loose when the knife was wielded in the ritualistic movements of a hunter at Gwyl Fawryn.  


Castiel could listen to the rumble of Dean’s voice for hours on end. Castiel began to wonder what it would sound like when Dean was crying out his name and begging for release. But he shut that thought down quickly before it had an unfortunate effect that it would be hard to conceal unless he ducked back behind the counter, which would probably only bring Dean’s attention to the situation.  


“As much as I would love to continue hearing tales of your hunting exploits with your brother, Dean, I do have a business to run. Orders to fulfil, windows to dress,” Castiel pointed at the torc, “and no doubt other customers to serve. I don’t wish to rush you,” he did, just to see what response he got from Dean, “but have you come to a decision yet?”  


Dean blinked as Castiel’s question drew him back from his ramblings. “The one with the blue stones. Thank you.”  


The cridde exchanged and the wrapped knife handed over, Castiel watched Dean leave the shop and make his way down the street until he couldn’t see him anymore. The torc would be going in the window, but he knew now who it belonged to, or more accurately, who he wanted it to belong to. Castiel had heard that there were ways and means of divining your Enaidffrind. He’d never paid any attention to what they were, seeing as he hadn’t believed in relationships being the result of divine intervention. Even if he had, to Castiel’s well-honed sense of morality, using those mtehods would have seemed like cheating. Now, however, it was imperative that he confirm that Dean Winchester was meant to be his anwyld so that he could set about proving that fact incontrovertibly to Dean. He would start finding out what they were tomorrow.  


**************************************************************************************************  


Dean couldn’t leave Cas’s shop fast enough. Son of a bitch! What was with all that forcing him to have that damned torc in his line of sight? It was obvious that the master craftsman had made that for his Enaidffrind. Idjit! There was no such thing as an Enaidffrind. It was a myth. The stuff that only the foolish romantics believed in. Relationships weren’t foretold in the stars. They were a convenience to exchange power and money. Ways to try and shore up failing bloodlines where the Gifting or the Hudau was weakening. His mother had believed that John Winchester was her Enaidffrind. Look how well that had worked out for them! Dead within months of each other, all because John Winchester’s damn pride meant that he could never back down from a fight, even one he knew he could never win.  


If Enaidffrind existed, and that was a massive if, there was no way in Uffern that an Uchelwr like Castiel Novak would end up saddled with a no Hudau, dumbass, lowlife hunter like Dean Winchester! The thought was preposterous. Except, Dean couldn’t deny that every time his eyes strayed, of their own damn accord, to the bejewelled torc he could see himself wearing it as he and Cas were bound together at the Feast of Llueso. He was so screwed.  


Also, what was up with him buying the knife with blue stones? He’d never had a thing for blue before. Dean couldn’t remember why he asked to see the two knives. They were almost the same except for the motif on the pommel and the colour of the stone. Being bothered by the colour of an item was something Sammy would do – what with his brother being more in tune with his ‘feminine’ energy and the weird seer thing he did. In contrast, Dean was all masculine energy, thank you very much.  


Dean stopped in his tracks. Dean would be the first to admit, in private, that he found a certain type of man attractive. But in a world where it was frowned upon, indeed borderline illegal, for any but the musicians and artists to have relationships with their own sex, Dean had only ever had female partners. So, that was another strike for the idea that he and Castiel were meant to be together – they were both men. He was certain Castiel wouldn’t swing that way – except…the torc looked like it was made to be worn by a man.  


“To the Fellin Fach,” Dean muttered, knowing that only a stiff drink or several would dull the confusion in his mind. Besides which, Jo and Charlie would want to see his new knife. So, Dean did an about-turn and weaved his way through the muddy city streets to his usual back alley watering hole.  


“Hey, Jo. Usual please,” Dean asked settling himself on a stool at the end of the bar.  


The blonde turned towards him, dishtowel slung over one shoulder and hands on her hips, so reminiscent of her mother.  


“Uh…I said please,” Dean pleaded, not knowing what he’d done to provoke the intimidating posture. Not that it made him feel threatened, of course.  


“That’s all you’ve got to say, is it? You come in here with a package sealed with Novak’s stamp under your arm, and all you say is - ale me?”  


“What can I say,” Dean grinned, “I’m rough around the edges, but I’m adorable so, you’ll forgive me. Anyway, where’s Red? Can’t let you see this before her – I’m courageous in the face of danger, not reckless.”  


Jo shrugged but poured Dean his ale and shoved the tankard down the counter to him, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise as Dean caught it before it sailed past him and onto the floor.  


“As if I’d waste this!”  


“Maybe not,” came a voice from behind Dean, “but you’re going to share it with your best friend, aren’t you?”  
Dean remained facing the bar. He placed one hand protectively over the top of the tankard while gripping tightly to it with the other hand. “No dice, Red. Buy your own…or maybe if you play your cards right, Joanna-Beth here will give you free ale for…uh…you know.”  


Charlie cuffed Dean around the back of his head before jumping up onto the stool next to him.  


Jo had an ale in front of Charlie almost before she sat down.  


“On the house, Charlie. No payment of any kind needed. Just help me find out what’s got Mr cool, calm, and collected here so hot under his collar that he’s here drinking when I know for a fact that he has a job to do for Adler this afternoon.”  


Dean glared at Jo. How did she know he had a mission from the Priffathro of Planta Gorllewin? She hadn’t somehow conned her way into becoming a hunter like her father, had she? Ellen would kill him and Sam before she let that happen to her daughter.  


Dean didn’t have more than a couple of seconds to process that thought before Charlie squealed, “OOOOhhh! Novak’s? What’ve you got in the package? Gonna share with the class?”  


Right as usual! He knew that his two best friends wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to be nosey. He’d be fine just so long as he didn’t let on about the captivating blue eyes and the CalonRhodd that he was most definitely not enticed by.  


“It’s Novak’s, he sells serving ware and ceremonial metalwork decorated with gems. What do you think I’ve got in there? Rabbits?”  


Charlie went to thump him in the arm, but Dean caught her around the wrist, wagging a finger at her with his other hand.  


“Curiosity killed the cat. If you’re not gonna behave, I’m not gonna share.”  


Jo leaned across the bar, snagging the package from Dean. “Nice distraction. Now, let’s see. I’m guessing it’s some schmaltzy piece for the secret love of Dean’s life…”  


“Wrong!” Charlie interrupted. “Dean only has eyes for us…I don’t swing his way and, well you’re more little sister than paramour, so…” Charlie scrunched up her nose as she thought, “I’m going with a new blade for the Gwyl Fawryn Hunters’ Ritual.”  


Dean snatched the package back from Jo. He broke the seal on the package and held it above the bar so that the knife came tumbling out onto it. Even in the yellow light of the oil-lamps, it looked even better against the stained and chipped bar than it had in the shop. Plain, simple, yet so skilfully put together. The knife screamed that a quality craftsman had put their heart, soul, and the best of their Hudau into making it.  


“Damnit!” Jo chuckled. “Glad we didn’t bet on it. That’s…that’s…wow…that’s giving off some energy, Dean.”  


Dean prayed to Cernowain that the ground would open and swallow him…actually better still, swallow Jo. Why did someone so emotionally constipated and unempathetic have to have one of Tân’s most badass empaths as his friend? Play dumb, he thought. Play dumb, Winchester.  


Charlie closed her eyes and held her hand over the knife. “Yeah, for an unused, unsanctified knife, it’s seriously charged.” Charlie turned to face Dean, holding his shoulders so he couldn’t easily turn away from her, “Wonder why that is?”  


“You don’t think? No…I mean…it couldn’t be…” Jo began giggling.  


“Don’t see what’s so funny,” Dean said bristling.  


“So…”Charlie began with a mischievous glint in her eye, “tell me about Castiel Novak – what does he look like? How does he speak? Is he muscular?”  


“Can you feel all that pent up…” Jo stopped mid-sentence. Her hand flew up to her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t mean…I…I…”  


“It’s ok, Jo. It’s no great secret that I’ve got zip in the Hudau department. Don’t see why that should make everyone else twitchy about mentioning their giftings and Hudau.”  


When you grew up with a freakishly talented baby brother, you learned not to get wound up about your own shortcomings. Instead, you devoted your time to being the best big brother you could and protecting your sibling from anyone making fun of him for being unusually double gifted and with Hudau stronger than most within the three great cities. John Winchester had taught Dean to hunt well enough to overcome any natural shortcomings in his gifting. Most of the time, working diligently with those hard-won skills compensated for being without magical ability. So, Dean tried not to think about what he was lacking and do the best he could with what he had. He could count on the fingers of one hand when having no Hudau had hindered Dean as a hunter. Now, in his personal life that was a totally different matter. But Dean tried not to dwell on that and had become good at avoiding public situations where it was likely he’d be expected to use his Hudau.  


Charlie was bouncing up and down in her seat. “Tell me everything. Do you think he knew he was charging your knife? Does he look like the type of guy that’s ready to fly off the handle any second? You know, all barely contained warrior strength.”  


Dean sighed at his friend's overexcitability. “No, Charles, he doesn’t look like he’s a Berserker. He’s just a regular guy, like you and me, who owns a shop and sold me this knife. Can we drop the twenty questions about the man, and stick to drooling over the knife?”  


Because if he had to talk about Castiel Novak, Dean was going to find himself in the middle of a ‘feelings’ conversation and it was highly likely that he’d let on about the crazy notion that he and the man who at birthright had been fourth in line for Priffathro of the Planta could be Enaidffrinds.  


Dangerous as it was to get drunk around these two, Dean was way too sober to deal with the thoughts he was having about Cas right now. Dean slapped some cridde on the bar.  


“Line ‘em up, Jo. Whiskey chasers for me and Charles until neither of us can stand, let alone speak.” If Charlie was as drunk as he was, Dean would have plausible deniability if he slipped up about Cas and Charlie tried to call him on it.  


**************************************************************************************************  


“What do you know about finding out who your Enaidffrind is?”  


Balthazar almost spewed his wine over the table. “You’re asking me, the man who’s trying to make the ménage a twelve a normal thing, about your one true love?”  
Castiel curled his hand around his own wine glass, staring into the dark red liquid as if willing Dean’s face to appear in it. “Just because you think that’s being tied down and something to be avoided at all costs doesn’t mean you don’t know any of the old wives’ tales.”  


“Fair point. But no. I pay absolutely no attention whatsoever whenever anyone so much as mentions that awful word.” Balthazar patted Castiel’s hand affectionately. “I don’t mean to belittle your belief. If you think that Branwen has someone in mind for you to be bonded with, then absolutely you should find her.”  


“What…” Castiel asked quietly, still looking intently into his wine, “what if it’s him?”  


“So, what if it is? If the Goddess pairs you up, then you’re paired – if you follow your line of thinking to its logical conclusion.”  


Castiel relaxed a little, peeking up to judge the sincerity on his friend’s face. “The CalonRhodd I created, it’s…well I know it’s the right thing. I know I was guided in its creation, but it wouldn’t look right…I mean it needs to be worn by someone more solid than most women I’ve ever seen in Tân…”  


Balthazar’s mouth formed a little ‘o’ of recognition. “You’ve created it. Is it in the window of the shop yet? Can I go see it? Why didn’t you tell me you were working on that, Castiel?” Balthazar stopped to draw breath for a second before delving back into his barrage of questions. “With your Hudau, it must be exquisite. What is it? What did you make? Has it already attracted any attention?”  


“Um…”Castiel felt the tips of his ears heat up. “It’s a bronze neckpiece which is still sat polished and ready to go in my workshop. I haven’t got the correct setting for it in my head yet…I thought I did. I had it sat on the counter ready to go, but…well…” Castiel didn’t dare to tell his oldest friend that he had found someone he wanted, no needed, to be his Enaidffrind, but couldn’t believe that the Gods would send him such good fortune. They had hardly ever blessed his life, not since two months after his tenth birthday. He was having a hard time convincing himself that they would begin now, despite how certain he was that Dean Winchester was the most gorgeous thing he had ever laid eyes on and belonged by his side. “…A hunter did come into the shop while I was putting the finishing touches to it before setting up the display, but he didn’t remark on it.”  


Balthazar reached for the bottle on the table between them. He poured a generous measure for himself and offered the bottle to Castiel, who drained his glass and took a similarly large amount. The two friends sat back, letting the warmth from the fire seep into them, listening to the crackling of the flames.  


“Oooh, I know! I remember something,” Balthazar exclaimed out of nowhere. “I think there’s supposed to be this thing with holding kernels of corn over the flames.”  


“And then what?”  


“Uh…whoops…don't remember.”  


Castiel rolled his eyes. If Balthazar hadn’t been the one to rescue him from the Phabells and train him in the gifting of a master metalworker and gemsmith, Castiel would no doubt have wound up dead by now one way or another. The debt of gratitude he owed his friend and mentor in his trade made it easy to overlook his many, many faults. Castiel took a big gulp of wine, holding it in his mouth for longer than necessary to allow the flavours to flood his taste buds, while he considered the sanity of his next question.  


“Know anyone who might be versed in these arcane arts?”  


“As a matter of fact, I do. Had you asked me a month ago, I wouldn’t. But there’s this wizard who’s just moved here from Coeden, Gabriel Milton. We met at…uh…um…”  


Castiel pulled a face. “No, please don’t tell me where you met, and certainly not which woman, or women, you were sharing with him.” Castiel didn’t need the explicit details of Balthazar’s conquests, but if he didn’t stop him, Balthazar would plough on and divulge all the sordid details regardless of Castiel’s sensitivities.  


“Right…yes…as a top-level wizard, he must know all the little tips and tricks. If not, he’s bound to know a good seer who can do that weird ball gazing or card trick thingies they use to tell you your future – for the right price!”  


Someone named Gabriel with the gift of pure magic and healing choosing to move from the quieter, friendlier, city in the land of the forests to Tân? Wizards were always needed, especially as healers in an overcrowded city, but unless there was a backstory that Balthazar wasn’t sharing, something about it didn’t sound right. It was also weird that Balthazar didn’t state that Gabriel was of Planta Gogledd. It must be an oversight. If the man was as gifted as Balthazar indicated, it was unlikely that Gabriel had another gifting. Two-gifted people were rarely stronger in one gifting than the other. The wizard would be of the planta of the magicians and healers. Castiel just wished that the man had another name. One that didn’t remind him of his long-lost older brother, or worse that witch (in every sense of the word) of a mother of theirs.  


“Let’s go see him tomorrow, Castiel. Right before lunch. Shut up shop early and take him for a few over lunch at the Fellen Fach.”  


Castiel didn’t put up any objection. There were places he’d rather go to for lunch than the Fellen Fach, but if enduring the uncultured bar got him answers, then he’d put up with it. The sooner he found out how he could establish that Dean was the man he’d created the torc for the better.  


**************************************************************************************************  


“Hold still! If you must drown yourself in whiskey, drink with the other hand. Unless you want me to make a mess of your shoulder.”  


“Just get on with it, bitch!”  


Sam jabbed the needle into Dean’s skin unnecessarily hard.  


Dean bit back the urge to yelp. He wasn’t a big pansy. He was man enough to stomach a little discomfort. The alcohol was a habit, not a necessity. He switched the bottle into his left hand.  


“I told you to stay covered. I had it handled without getting within striking range of Talley. But no, you had to prove that learned skill beats Hudau, didn’t you? Guess what, jerk, it doesn’t when you’re drunk before you start the manhunt.”  


“Don’t need the lecture, Sammy.” Dean tried not to flinch as Sam yanked the silk through and plunged the needle straight in again for the next stitch.  


Sam paused mid-stitch. He bit the side index finger of his free hand.  


“Any time you’re ready,” Dean sassed. “Would like to get on with my evening.”  


“Uh, yeah…sorry…” Sam made another stitch, then tied it off, before covering the wound with some gauze and a bandage. “Don’t you think it was strange? Adler setting us on Talley. Don’t get me wrong, there was no love lost between us, but I hadn’t heard of him doing anything wrong before Adler put the bounty on his head. You?”  


Dean shook his head. He’d given up on trying to make sense of the Priffathro’s actions not long after their dad’s death. John Winchester had drilled it into Dean – do as you’re told, when you’re told, without question. So, even as head of the Winchester family, Dean still did that. Zachariah Adler said jump, Dean asked how high.  


“So, why did he want him?”  


“Didn’t bother asking. Above our pay grade.”  


Dean could see Sam didn’t want to let the conversation drop. Dean did. It wouldn’t achieve anything. He held up a warning finger with his right hand and brought the bottle of whiskey to his lips with the left, before leaning back in his chair, careful not to bump the wound on his shoulder. Then he tipped his head back and poured as much whiskey down his throat in one go as he could without choking.  


Zachariah Adler was an obnoxious windbag, but he was the man with the power. The big cheese of the warrior and hunter planta. In charge of justice within the planta as well as part of the ruling council of twelve, the Cyngor. It wouldn’t go in their favour if Sam started stirring up a hornet’s nest that Adler didn’t want people messing with.  
Cas would make a much better Priffathro, Dean mused. After all Charles Novak, Cas’s father, had been head of Planta Gorllewin when Dean had been born. His dad had always said that Roman and Adler, who had followed, were pale imitations of the Novaks. Uh…where did that thought come from? Why was he thinking about Novak again?  


“Hey, Sam, you ever used your other gifting…for like…oh…um…your own purposes…like…say…um…I don’t know…if you’ll ever have enough money not to be scratching around for copper cridde just to buy food?”  


Sam turned his head away from the fire that he was trying to coax into life as the dampness in the air made the cold feel like it clung to your skin. It was too late in the evening for the whole house to gain much warmth from it. But they’d both slept in front of the fire instead of in their beds before, they could do it again.  


“I can’t see my own future. That’s the blind spot all seers have – it’s worse for me because I’m also a hunter by gifting. I could, however, see yours if that’s what you’re asking. Honestly, I’m surprised it’s taken you so many years to get around to the question. But you know it’s not the actual future, just an impression of one possible outcome from many depending on the choices you and anyone else involved make? You may not even like what I see – what then?”  


“Duh – I make better choices and change the outcome. If it’s all about free will in a mass of infinite possibilities, then what harm could it do?”  


Sam grinned. “You are asking, then. What is it you want to know about – your next conquest?” he asked in an amused tone.  


“Nothing in particular. I wanted to know the answer, you know, just in case I ever need to know. By Cernowain, it’s freezing in here – can’t you…” Dean waggled his fingers in front of him in a bad imitation of the motion needed to magically boost the fire.  


“I could, but it wastes energy – and I’m tired, Dean. I want to get some rest. Get the blankets off the beds. Pull your chair up to the fire and we’ll sleep here.”  


Picking his battles with his brother was something Dean had learned over time. He’d won the battle over poking about in Adler’s business, so he’d concede on using Hudau to stoke the fire. Besides, he still had a quart of whiskey left to keep his insides warm. He tucked the information away about Sam being able to see his future, no sense in cashing that card in yet. By tomorrow morning he would have forgotten about messy black hair, the gravelly voice, gleaming blue eyes and the magnificent CalonRhodd. He hoped.  


**************************************************************************************************  


As it turned out, Gabriel had been quite…to be totally honest the guy was far more interested in stuffing his face with desserts and slurping down tankards of honeyed lager than helping Castiel. A near total waste of two hours when Castiel could have gone to see a Keeper of the Lore instead. The Keepers of the Lore had access to old documents of the time before their people had settled on Neffroen when they lived on Enia. It was a shame that having escaped the persecution that the ungifted peoples of Enia had subjected them to because of their Hudau and continued belief in the old gods, that practices such as the ones Castiel was interested in had died out. But, he supposed, that was the price of progress.  


The only high point in the lunch meeting was when Castiel had gone to order another round for the three of them and overheard a conversation between a tall long-haired man and the blonde bartender. Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, Castiel had only heard snippets of the conversation. From what he gathered they both knew Dean and were discussing how he had gotten himself hurt the previous evening. It had taken all Castiel’s self-control not to barge in and demand that he be taken to Dean straight away. From now on, the Fellen Fach would be Castiel’s watering hole of choice. Solely on the basis that they served some of the best value, great tasting food he had ever tasted in such a godforsaken part of Tân, of course. In no way was Castiel hoping that he would ‘bump into’ a certain green-eyed hunter there.  


Despite the torrential rain that had refused to stop all afternoon, Castiel ventured out from the Fellen Fach to the oldest part of the city where the temples of the Gods and Goddesses lined the streets. Each one backing onto a small square courtyard that it shared with three other temples. Only the combined temple of Don and Beli and the temple of Lleun had their own squares behind them. It was here that the seers worked alongside the priests, and the few buildings that separated the clusters of temples were where those entrusted with keeping the lore of their whole race and of the individual Planta worked.  


Castiel took down the hood of his coat and shook out the new-fangled article called an umbrella that he had recently purchased from a fellow craftsman. Together they were better protection against the deluge than the waxed coat was by itself.  


A notice on a highly polished desk informed the visitor that they should ring the bell if they required the attention of one of the on-duty Keepers of the Lore. Those with appointments should proceed to the offices of the Keepers they were scheduled to meet. Castiel rang the bell. A large leather-bound dairy opened in front of him indicating which three Keepers currently on duty were handling the drop-in visitors. Never having had to use the Keepers before, Castiel didn’t have a preference. He closed his eyes momentarily concentrating on the three names the book had given him. One leapt out at him – Tran. Castiel turned his attention back to the book and requested that he be shown where to find the Keeper of the Lore he had chosen.  


It turned out that Kevin Tran looked too young to be an accomplished Keeper. Taking in Kevin’s soft boyish features, Castiel had misgivings over his Hudau’s choice. However, it rarely steered him wrong in these matters. He was also painfully aware that people were often dismissive of giftings because of age or genealogy. He would be a hypocrite if he did not suspend his disbelief in Kevin’s talents.  


“How can I be of service, Mr…?”  


“Novak…Castiel Novak. I am looking for old lore regarding Enaidffrind. Specifically, the ancient rituals for discovering who one is predestined to be bonded to. Purely for research to help with an idea I have for a line of jewellery and other decorative items in time for the Feast of Lleuso – pays to plan early I always say.”  


Kevin looked up from his parchment. The raised eyebrows indicated that he didn’t buy Castiel’s story one bit but was polite enough not to say so.  


“I’m sure I can help you find just what you’re looking for, Castiel. Please take a seat.”  


Castiel looked behind him to find that the leather-backed chair which had been in the corner of the room was now behind him. Impressive. He’d not seen any indication that Kevin had used his Hudau.  


In a showier action, Kevin snapped his fingers three times, murmuring several words too quietly for Castiel to know what the incantation was, and instantly three books appeared on the desk in front of Kevin.  


“There are many ways written in these books for divining Branwen’s plans. Were there any specific sorts of things that you were looking for to inspire you?”  


“Um…I…no…not….er…specifically,” a tongue-tied Castiel floundered. “It’s more of a concept than any firm plans at the moment. Open to anything from the old ways that could…” as he spoke, Castiel suddenly found his footing, even if the whole idea was fictitious. “I…had seen maybe there was a market for some small trinkets which symbolised the rites. I don’t know maybe charms that a young person who believes in the will of the gods would collect as they performed a number of rituals or underwent a challenge of some kind.”  


“Ah yes, I see where you’re going with that,” Kevin said maintaining the illusion of Castiel designing a collection of courting gifts for sale. “I think…” Kevin opened his palm and let it hover for a couple of seconds over each book, “…this one should have everything that we need.”  


An hour later, Castiel was on his way home with two incantations, a description of how to perform each ritual, and a shopping list.  


*************************************************************************************************  


“Which do I do first?”  


Balthazar looked at him incredulously.  


“I’m being serious. There was a reason we clung to the old ways on Enia, even though many of our race were dying for using them. They worked.”  


“Just how much of my wine did you drink, while I was resetting that woman’s ring?”  


“No more than you had drunk before I arrived. I know you don’t believe that the one true love thing exists. If it doesn’t then none of these will do anything, or it means I’m already fixating on Dean Winchester, so I better man up and pursue him anyway. It’s not like it could do any harm, is it? Unless of course, it shows me someone other than Dean, in which case…” Castiel trailed off nervously.  


Balthazar took the glass from Castiel’s hand before it got broken. The more excited or anxious Castiel got, the more he talked with his hands, and Balthazar knew from bitter experience that sometimes there were casualties when that happened.  


“Honestly, I think you’re nuts. The odds aren’t in your favour that he’ll like you back. Neither of you is the creative type, are you?”  
“Don’t be so prejudiced, Balthazar!” Although, it was true that those most likely to indulge in same-sex relationships were those from Planta Denillen.  


“I’m not, I’m just stating the fact that it isn’t regarded as normal to want to spend your life with someone of the same sex. It’s ok for a bit of fun – I might have even indulged on the odd occasion, but being exclusively devoted to another man for the rest of my life? No thanks, and I suspect many others would share my view.”  


Castiel leaned forward in his seat and slapped Balthazar on the shoulder. “You,” he said with a wide grin, “would say the same thing irrespective of the gender of any prospective life partner.”  


Balthazar inclined his head, “Touché! Another bottle?”  


Maybe completing a bizarre ritual wouldn’t feel quite so ridiculous if he was drunk. Uffern, they might even make more sense that way! “I believe that would be in order, yes. 

Then onto the first attempt – got any apples or grains of corn?”  


Balthazar grunted his response, his back already to Castiel as he went in search of the wine. Although, like the dutiful good friend he was, he returned with an apple, an ear of corn, and a knife.  


Castiel shot him a knowing look, setting to work on peeling the apple while Balthazar uncorked and poured the wine. The apple successfully pared in one long strip, Castiel knocked the whole glass of wine back in one go. If drunk was the way to go, then there wasn’t much point taking his time about it.  


“We’re missing the shovel or scuttle to toast the corn on. Can you rustle one up for me? Please?” he asked with a pleading look and an obligatory wringing of the hands to up the pathos. It was, in fact, a ruse to get Balthazar out of the room while Castiel did the first ritual. He hadn’t yet had enough wine to not feel foolish doing this in front of his friend, but if waited till he was, he probably wouldn’t have the coordination to do it and remain standing.  


Once Balthazar had shuffled out of the room grumbling, Castiel stood up, removed the bottle and glasses from the table setting them down in a corner of the room, and shoved the table out of the way. Then he placed himself facing the short wall so that he was standing alongside, but a good distance away from the fire. Castiel swung the apple around his head three times, then threw it over his right shoulder. He heard it hit the floor with a satisfying splat. He should have added a cloth to his list - for the clean-up. Oh well! What letter had the decimated apple made?  


Castiel turned around just as Balthazar re-entered the room, shovel in hand.  


“Come here and help me decipher this.” Castiel beckoned Balthazar over.  


The two men peered at the mess of apple on the floor.  


“What exactly am I looking for?”  


“The letter. The tradition is that the apple will fall into the first letter of my Enaidffrind’s name.”  


“First or last?”  


Castiel crouched down to get a better look. First or last didn’t matter when all that was left was a mound of apple in no discernible pattern – let alone the shape of a D or a W.  


“Maybe you threw it too hard? Isn’t this something teenage girls would have done, not grown men?”  


“Just give me the shovel.” A frustrated Castiel held his hand out. He scooped up what he could of the apple and tossed it onto the fire.  


“You wanted a shovel to clear the mess? Could have just asked for a cloth.” Balthazar winked taking a big gulp of wine before dragging the table into its usual spot. In an impressive feat, Balthazar managed not to spill a drop of, now that the bottle and two full glasses were back in situ.  


Castiel flicked his hand and a cloth appeared in Balthazar’s hand.  


“Show-off!”  


“Cloths I know you have. A shovel, no idea. Even I can’t make something out of nothing. Now, for act two! Seeing as my first attempt was a disaster.” A subtle piece of misdirection. There had been a time when Castiel had made wooden swords or toy bows out of nothing. He hadn’t attempted that use of his Hudau since before his father had died. Castiel had no idea whether he could still do it.  


Another flick of his wrist and the paper with the incantation he needed materialised. Castiel laid it on the table then set about cutting two kernels off the ear of corn without scattering the whole lot over the floor. He didn’t imagine Balthazar would thank him for making another mess of his home in the name of Castiel’s love life. It was a harder job than it looked with raw corn, but that was what tradition said, so Castiel was going to follow the custom to a ‘T’. After what seemed like forever, but was probably only a minute or two, he had two undamaged kernels in his hand. He placed them in the centre of the shovel and grabbed the paper.  


Balthazar sat in his chair, watching with a bemused smile.  


“Great Branwen, Goddess of all matters of the heart. You who, from before the very dawn of time, set before Aerten the names of all divinely foretold lovers. I beseech you, Branwen, by this Rhamanta let me see if my Enaidffrind Dean Winchester be,” Castiel intoned holding the shovel over the flames.  


He was beginning to think that he had his answer, that either the whole thing was garbage or Dean was not his Enaidffrind, when both the kernels jumped off the shovel at the same time.  


“Yes?” Balthazar asked hesitantly.  


“Yes!” Castiel crowed. Doubt crossed his mind, just for an instant, but it was enough to have him scrabbling for the other side of the incantation where he’d noted down what the possible outcomes meant. Thankfully for his sanity, both moving at the same time meant yes! He and Dean were meant to be together.  


“Celebration time?” Balthazar held up both wine glasses.  


Castiel laid the shovel down in the hearth, exchanging it for his glass.  


“To Dean and Castiel!” Balthazar toasted then added sotto voce, “the moronic idiots.” Adding volume again he asked, “Is that it? Are you done with this nonsense now that you got an answer?”  


“Oh no, I need to double-check. Especially after the apple fiasco. Kevin Tran gave me a couple of other examples of how youngsters used to find out who they were supposed to marry. I’ll try them out tomorrow night. I needed a little extra time to get what I need for one of them.”  


“Huh? Ok. So long as my services aren’t required. There’s this pretty little brunette over at the Bird and Sceptre. Apparently, she’s got twin sisters only a year younger too. Thought that I might…”  


Castiel held his hands up in surrender, “Please spare me. But, feel free to…um…go have a good time tomorrow. I’ll fill you in on my success at the Planta meeting on Sunday.”  


**************************************************************************************************  


Dean twirled the knife in his hands. He was at home when he held a hunting knife of any kind. The one he was currently holding may have been intended for ceremonial use only, but its balance was impeccable. Had the blade been able to withstand being sharpened, Dean would have so that he could hunt with it. It could hardly have been better had it been made to his unique physical specifications.  


Dean wondered what it must be like to have genuine talent. As much as he liked to play dumb for the crowd, and was not as book smart as Sammy, Dean was no slouch when it came to brains. As a hunter, you had to have some intelligence and a boatload of cunning to outfox your opponent. Whether that prey was as fast as a deer, as well-muscled as a wild boar, or capable of sudden illogical behaviours like the human bounty he was sometimes asked to track down, a good hunter had to be able to outsmart them all. Mostly Dean could, even with negligible Hudau to assist him. What Dean truly wanted was to be gifted at something, not have to work so hard to prove himself. If he was honest with himself, although he loved to hunt, he was tired of proving that he was as good as any hunter with Hudau.  


Did creating exquisite pieces of jewellery and adorning other items with precious stones give Cas satisfaction? Cas had been born a warrior. As far as Dean was aware Cas’s mother Naomi had been of Planta Gorllewin the same as Charles Novak. In theory, none of their sons should have had any other gifting apart from that of being a warrior or a hunter. What did it say about Cas that he could learn another gifting to such a high level, significant Hudau ability notwithstanding?  


A radical thought occurred. If Cas was capable of doing it, maybe there was hope for Dean. Granted Hudau wouldn’t be there to help, but there was a small sliver of hope that Dean could be truly gifted at something. What that might be was a mystery. But the thought sat there poking away at his brain every time he looked at the new knife.  


Sam hurried past him at an excessive speed for someone so large.  


“I’m late. Promised Pamela and Missouri that I’d be there to help today. You know how any of the feasts brings more people into the temples looking for insight from the seers.”  


“Bring food home will ya?” Dean gave Sam his most dazzling smile as his brother hopped around on one foot trying to get his boot on.  


“You know I can’t. Any food donated is for the Gods, an offering from the worshippers. It can’t just be parcelled out to be wolfed down by anybody.”  


“Beli forfend,” Dean said rolling his eyes. “Lleun knows that the priests and the temple healers get handouts, why not the seers?”  


Sam slipped out of the door without answering. Dean could have sworn that his brother mumbled something about Dean not eating rabbit food anyway. But of course, he could have been wrong.  


Speaking of rabbits. Dean jabbed the knife into the table, watching the handle quiver as the momentum made its way through it. When it had stopped moving, Dean left it there and gathered his hunting equipment together. If Sam was otherwise engaged, maybe Jo would be up for going with him. A brooding Dean hunting alone was asking for trouble. All that time to find the evidence to convince himself, once again, that he was a screw-up. Besides, if he gave Ellen some fresh meat from the hunt, there was bound to be a free meal in it for Dean, and the ale to go with it.  


Two hours later, Dean was wishing that he’d chosen another companion.  


“No, don’t go all weird on me, Winchester. Only a blind person could fail to see the way you looked at that knife. You’re interested in Castiel – admit it!”  


“I go into a guy’s shop, buy a knife, admire his craftmanship, and that translates as me being ‘interested’ in him?”  


“You were way too shifty! Kept trying to turn the conversation away from him – none too subtly, I might add. That drinking competition with Charlie? Smoke and mirrors, Dean. Smoke and mirrors.”  


Damn if that girl hadn’t called him on his bullshit again. How had he been so stupid as to allow Jo to worm way into being like the annoying little sister Dean had never had? Dean stomped on ahead of Jo, the bracken and twigs made a satisfying crunch under his heavy tread despite the dampness that clung to the mosses and dripped from the leaves. Not exactly the cat-like tread of a skilled hunter, more like a crabby child throwing their toys around. Any deer that hadn’t scarpered from their approaching scent would no doubt take flight at their noisy approach, likewise, any skittish rabbits would have bounded back to the safety of their burrows. He’d come out to avoid thoughts of the master gemsmith, not to have a discussion about him.  


Piling misery on top of his misery, Jo caught up to him without a sound. She wasn’t about to let the subject drop simply because Dean had pitched a fit.  


“Mighty touchy for someone who was merely admiring handiwork. Who’s were you admiring? Castiel’s skills with metal or Don’s moulding of human clay?”  


“Can it! All this chit-chat is scaring off our prey.”  


“Uh-huh.”  


Jo stopped walking placing herself directly in front of Dean, hands on her hips looking every inch her mother’s daughter and twice as scary when you knew what Jo could do with a hunting knife.  


Dean swerved to walk around her.  


Jo reached out and caught his jacket sleeve, holding tight enough that the resistance made Dean stumble, although not enough to stop him or make him hit the ground.  


Dean spun around to face her, eyes blazing and the muscles in his neck straining as his mouth twisted in anger.  


“You don’t scare me,” Jo stated calmly. “You’re all bluster! Unless of course, someone was threatening Sammy, yeah then your bite would be worse than your bark. But as this has nothing do with your baby brother, we will talk about this stuff here and now. Get it all out in the open, and then sure, let’s get some venison and rabbit for the Fellen Fach.”  


“There isn’t anything to tell.”  


Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. Because there really wasn’t. Castiel was too high-class. Had far too much talent, gifting, and Hudau for Dean to be a suitable match. Even if those odds weren’t stacked up against them enough as two men, they knew nothing about each other except the common knowledge that folks within the city knew about each other’s family history. The Novak’s and the Winchesters went back aeons. If the stories were to be believed, both had formed part of the initial colonisation of Neffroen. The deeds of their ancestors were bound to be among those handed down from generation to generation. The Winchesters falling from grace because of – well maybe best not to dwell on why. Knowng each other’s family history didn’t mean that the two men knew what the other was like – not like Jo or Charlie knew him.  


“Says you! So, I guess you wouldn’t be interested to know that Castiel’s best friend Balthazar Roché is an on-off regular at the bar, whereas Castiel hardly ever sets foot in the place.”  


“So what? Not like there aren’t other establishments where the higher classes go to spend their drinking time, is it?”  


“Agreed.” Jo nodded sagely, but there was a hint of mischief in her eyes that belied the seriousness of her remark. “That being the case, what would you say if I told you that Balthazar has been getting friendly with this new wizard in town – Gabriel something or other…”  


Dean couldn’t see where she was going with this. He had no interest in Castiel’s friends or their friends. He went to open his mouth to say as much but snapped it shut as Jo continued without so much as pausing for breath.  


“…and then that Castiel joined the pair of them for lunch the other day. A very cosy looking chat. One that, if the ears on the ground are correct…” Jo smirked, “mostly centred around old traditions. The words Enaidffrind and CalonRhodd were definitely overheard.”  


So that confirmed one thing. A heavy weight settled in the pit of Dean’s stomach, killing the butterflies, and silencing the chattering. Cas had indeed created that torc for someone. It was improbable, no impossible, that he could ever have created it for Dean. They’d never knowingly met before that day. How could it possibly be meant for him, no matter how much he had been bizarrely drawn to the piece of jewellery. He was going to have a tough time convincing his brain to forget about Castiel Novak and an even harder one being happy for the guy and his anwyld. Try as he might to ignore the itch under his skin. Declare till he was blue in the face that he didn’t believe that the Gods meddled in human affairs of the heart. Dean Winchester was gone on the idea of him and Cas together. He couldn’t put a finger on why. The notion of them together felt right, like a done deal.  


**************************************************************************************************  


Castiel almost joined Balthazar in questioning his sanity. It had all seemed so logical when he had excitedly left the Keepers’ building, and then again after heating the corn had worked. Now in the cold light of day, these two remaining rituals seemed…not even stupid was the right word – distasteful or unpalatable might have been better choices. Whatever it was, a sober Castiel was having second and third thoughts. Sleeping on a mutton bone and choking down two slices of heavily salted bread just to get certainty that Dean was his intended. Playing wait and see would fray his nerves, leave him flailing around chasing after Dean with no guarantee of success.  


Every time that he decided he would court Dean irrespective of them being Enaidffrind, he would remember that same-sex relationships were looked down upon. Added to that, it was unlikely that Dean would ever consider one unless he had a large dose of coercion. Once he had remined himself of those two facts, Castiel would decide he had to proceed and know for sure, so he had back-up however anecdotal with which to confront Dean. The loaf taunted him from the kitchen table. The bone was wrapped up, lying by the pantry.  


“One small snifter. Take the edge off. Would it really disrupt things that much? I know Kevin said no alcohol, but…” Castiel had no clue who he was talking to. It was just him in the house and any vermin that had taken shelter from the storm outside. Talking to yourself out loud or having the whole argument between sensible Castiel and romantic Castiel in his head. Which was more insane?  


Romantic Castiel won out. Curiosity may not have worked out well for the cat, but Castiel Novak had beaten the odds every time the chips had been stacked against him. Being inquisitive wouldn’t harm him now. At least that was what he was counting on.  


Castiel cut two slices from the loaf, sprinkled them liberally with salt. He stuck to Kevin Tran’s instructions, washing them down with only the smallest mouthful of water to make swallowing them possible.  


Scrunching up his face against the stench, and holding his breath, Castiel picked up the mutton bone. If there was one tiny detail he was going to deviate on, it was that the bone would remain wrapped, in fact, he would add another layer between his pillow and the bone for good measure. It occurred to him only once he had stashed the double-wrapped package under his pillow that the salt remedy required him to be in a deep enough sleep to dream. That was going to be difficult with such a hard lump under his head. He shrugged, somewhat unconvincingly, that if it didn’t happen, it wasn’t the end of the world. He could always try again the following night.  


“Today’s shoes or any old pair?” he murmured as he performed his nightly ablutions. “Does it matter?” He had no recollection of Kevin mentioning there being a difference, but he sped back into the living room to find the instructions. “Hah, any old pair, so long as they’re mine. Good. Good.” Castiel spoke like he had many pairs of shoes which would make choosing a pair a chore. In reality, he had two pairs of shoes and one pair of boots that he wore only when the weather was at its most monsoon-like or in the snow. With the streets encrusted in mud, he had left his shoes just inside the front door to dry off. It made more sense to use the other pair than traipse mud through the house.  


Just before he climbed into bed for the night, Castiel carefully placed his shoes in a ‘T’ dead centre at the foot of his bed.  


It turned out that the combination of an exceptionally lumpy pillow and a parched mouth wasn’t the recipe for sleep at all. Try as he might, Castiel couldn’t get comfortable. Drumming up what little saliva he could to swallow did little to ease the salt-induced thirst. There really had to be an easier way…there was. A seer. Castiel tossed and turned more with the inner battle than the bone, which after an hour he had unceremoniously dumped out onto the floor and shoved as far as he could under the bed. He’d swallowed his pride to go ask a Keeper of the Lore about the ancient rituals. To act like a lovelorn teenager and ask someone to predict his future love was too ignominious an act. He’d told Gabriel it was more of an academic enquiry. He’d told the wizard that a prospective customer had asked him to create a CalonRhodd for them without having much of a clue about the design they wanted to use and that Castiel wasn’t that versed in matters concerning the Gods and Goddesses using the hearts of the humans as playthings. Gabriel had graciously accepted what he’d been told at face value, but then, of course, hadn’t provided anything useful himself in return. No way was Castiel going through that with a seer, someone with the gift of knowing when someone was bluffing. No way!  


About three hours later, Castiel’s mind stilled enough that he could sleep. Sometime after that, he found himself sitting alone at a table in the Fellen Fach with no food or drink on his table. The bar was disturbingly empty and unnervingly quiet for such a normally raucous place.  


“What can I get you?” Castiel had seen the blonde-haired waitress before. She had been behind the bar on the couple of occasions he had ventured into the place.  


“W…wa…water,” Castiel stammered, the dryness of his mouth stopping him from speaking clearly.  


“Coming up,” she replied with a smile and sauntered away to fetch the pitcher of water that bars like the Fellen Fach always kept topped up.  


But it wasn’t the woman who returned with the pitcher. There was a clue in the heavier footsteps that approached. The muscled forearm, covered in freckles and too hairy for a woman, gave Castiel hope. He didn’t look up. He watched the clearly masculine hand place the tumbler on the table, holding it in place while whoever it was poured the water.  


“Thank you…”Castiel tilted his head to the side and looked up and braved a peek at who was serving him, “…Dean.”  


Waking up the following morning, Castiel could only remember the one dream, the details of which were hazy. What he did remember of that dream was that it was Dean who brought him the water to slake his thirst. Proof number two for Dean being his intended. He was convinced that here had been other dreams, all containing Dean, but as he’d had to remove the bone from under his pillow, Castiel wasn’t going to place any unwarranted stock in dreams he couldn’t remember.  


He would try that custom again on its own – to make sure it was the effect of the ritual, not his desires playing tricks on him.  


**************************************************************************************************  


Dean groaned into his pillow. Who had suggested that the local band played outside his and Sam’s cottage? He was personally going to gut every one of them in the most painful manner imaginable for thinking it was a good idea to start this early. The morning chorus of birdsong was bad enough, but this racket…this racket wasn’t coming from outside his window. It was inside his head. Dean groaned again. Nobody to blame for the banging in his head but himself, unless he could find a way to blame Charlie for egging him on because that had to have been what happened. He and Charlie had got into one of their ‘I can hold my ale better than you’ fights. Judging from how he was feeling, now that the queasy feeling in his stomach had made itself known, he’d lost.  


“Hey, so get this!”  


Dean threw the pillow at Sam. It was a waste of a good pillow, but he didn’t have anything more suitable to hand.  


“Quiet, Sammy,” he mouthed, covering his eyes with the palm of his hand.  


He heard a stifled chuckle, then footsteps approaching. Neither of which prepared him for having a pitcher of, he hoped, water preferably clean, dumped over his head. Now he was awake.  


“Bitch!”  


“Jerk! So, seriously, get this. Adler has given us another commission.”  


That got Dean’s attention. Two requests from the Priffathro in under a week. He couldn’t recall their dad ever having received two in such short order – not directly from the head honcho.  


“What’s it say?” He flopped onto his back, instantly regretting it as the coldness of his damp shirt seeped through to his skin.  


“He wants an audience with some high-ranking wizard by the name of Milton.”  


“Never heard of him! Anyway, what’s wanting an audience got to do with us.”  


He heard Sam’s shoes creak and guessed his overgrown puppy-dog of a brother was bouncing on the balls of his toes. This didn’t bode well for an easy life.  


“The order reads, and I quote: If Mr Milton is not receptive to my invitation immediately, please bring him to me by whatever means you deem necessary, so long as he and I can have our discussion as soon as he arrives at my office in the Planta building. If you cannot fulfil my request, I am sure Gordon Walker will be happy to oblige.”  


“Fucker!” Dean spat, his anger finally giving him the energy to sit up and face the day.  


“Yup. We’re being played. Not sure what the game is but, I have my suspicions that we are sacrificial pawns – perhaps Talley was the first.”  


“Should let Walker handle it. Let him get what’s coming to him.”  


Ever the voice of reason, Sam counselled, “I doubt Adler has any intention of giving the job to him. I’d put money on him having written it like that to provoke a reaction in us.”  


Dean had a brilliant idea. Well, he thought it was a brilliant idea.  


“Call me paranoid, but we need some additional help. Some protection, or some insight as to how this is all going to go down.”  


If Sam knew what Dean was angling for, he didn’t give any sign. “Meet me in the kitchen in five. We’ll go see what the grapevine knows about this Milton guy.”  


For someone so smart, Sam could be so dense sometimes, Dean lamented. The grapevine, aka Bobby Singer, was the best in the business at keeping his fingers in enough pies to know pretty much the whole city’s business. It was impressive for someone with little in the way of Hudau ability, although he had more of that than Dean did. However, what Dean had been suggesting was a more accurate way of finding out what the Priffathro of Planat Gorllewin was up to – observing Zachariah Adler through the eyes of a seer on Draig’s Brew. Sam could do it with both hands tied behind his back. Dean might actually make him do that – for laughs.  


Dean had underestimated his brother. Something he cautioned others against because Sam had perfected the art of the wide-eyed innocent and combined it with a razor-sharp intellect and off-the-charts Hudau. Sam was also a past master at hiding the true level of gifting and Hudau when the occasion called for it.  


“So long as you frame the question in a way that is focused on Adler, not on either of us, I’m prepared to play the game your way. Take a seat.”  


Sam poured the final ingredients into an earthenware bowl. He’d already chalked the symbols onto the table. A goblet of Draig’s Brew was empty by his right hand.  


Dean realised that Sam had been preparing to go this route before he’d woken him up. Oh well, at least it meant they were on the same page.  


“Can you see what his end game is? At the very worst, can you see what’s going on in his world in six-months or a year’s time?”  


Sam pursed his lips. “Hmmm. I can. The further out you go, the more possibilities there are. Just like I told you the other day people’s choices affect the outcome.”  


Dean could see what Sam was getting at. But how close to the present would it be helpful to see?  


“How about a peek into that meeting with the wizard? Assuming the pompous ass gets someone, who is enough of an idiot to bring Milton to him that is.”  


“Perfect. If Adler can’t, then there’ll be no meeting. But the Gods might still grant me the ability to see how Adler reacts to not getting the meeting. Could give us a clue we can work with.”  


“Hop to it, Sammy,” Dean demanded, leaning back in his chair and kicking his feet up on the table. “Don’t forget the Seer’s Helper.” Dean motioned at the Draig’s Brew.  


“Not funny, Dean.”  


Dean faked a hurt face, “I’m freakin’ hilarious!”  


Nevertheless, Sam downed the viscous and unappealing looking liquid in one go. Then he stood motionless by the table; his eyes closed for a minute before he began to speak.  


“Great Cerridwen, Keeper of the Cauldron, holder of the future grant to me the vision of the future that I cast. Lend to me the powers strong and keen, open my sight within sight that I might see. As above, so below might all your powers be.”  


Dean had never paid much attention to any of Sam’s trances. Naturally, he’d been there when Sam had been overcome by a vision. When that happened, Dean was more concerned with helping his brother through the blinding headache and nausea that followed, than watching Sam the Seer at work. The Draig’s Brew gave a seer added pep, allowing them to flow in the spirit longer and with less unpleasant side effects. He would never admit it to Sam but watching his younger brother use his seer’s gifting was awe-inspiring. The serene air surrounding him, made Sam almost shimmer with violet light. His eyes, although open, were glazed over and his body, though still unmoving, looked relaxed. Sam never looked this much at peace, even when he was sleeping.  


The only thing ruining the moment was Dean’s own impatience to find out what the Priffathro was up to. Because, yes, he had to admit it, he still couldn’t shake the idea that Castiel Novak would be a significant improvement on Adler. Yet, he knew nothing more about the guy than when he had left Cas’s shop after buying his totally badass new ceremonial knife. Then there was the little matter of why in the name of Cernowain that even mattered to him, let alone the whole warrior and hunter planta. So much for his commitment not to think about the messy dark hair, ocean-blue eyes, and the lithe well-muscled…whoah, hold on. No not going there. Soooooo not going there. Except, of course, Dean’s mind was. Leave it unoccupied for more than a few minutes at a time and it would drift to Cas and the CalonRhodd. Under no circumstances was he going to acknowledge that Cas had sneaked his way into Dean’s dreams.  


Dean was brought back to Neffroen when Sam rudely pushed his feet off the table. The look on Sam’s face told him to bite back the snarky remark and listen to what his brother had seen.  


“You are not going to believe this! The wizard isn’t really Milton. He’s Gabriel Novak!”  


Dean’s eyes popped wide open, “NOVAK? As in…”  


“Yup. The Novak’s who used to be the big cheeses in the Planta.”  


It was out of Dean’s mouth before he could stop himself, “One of Cas Novak’s family.”  


Sam titled his head, “I’m supposing so. But, let me finish. That’s not all the interesting news from the meeting. Adler is concerned that Gabriel has come back to challenge him for control of Gorllewin.”  


“And?”  


“Apparently not. Says he got bored in Coeden. Needed bright lights, big city action, or something like that. Anyway, the point is…”  


Dean, eager to prove he wasn’t completely useless, finished Sam’s sentence, “…Adler is feeling threatened and trying to remove anyone he thinks might challenge him.”  


“Also, I’d put cridde on him testing the loyalty of the lower orders and taking out those he thinks are a risk.”  


“Son of a bitch. He is threatening us! If we don’t do the job, then not only will Adler give it to someone else, he’ll sic other hunters on us!”  
Grimacing, Sam nodded his agreement of Dean’s conclusions.  


“Better keep us in the game for now then. Until we work out what to do next that doesn’t put us in the pocket of a serious douchebag. Tool up, after we’ve had a chat with Bobby, we’re going hunting wizards!”  


Dean was eager to meet Gabriel Milton/Novak. Not for the reasons Sam had just disclosed, but two and two had suddenly started to add up to four in his head – the Gabriel that Adler wanted to ‘talk’ to was also the wizard that Castiel and his friend had met up with at the Fellen Fech. There were even stranger things afoot than Sam’s vision had shown. Dean knew it deep down somewhere out of conscious reach. What was worse was the army of butterflies in his stomach and the chattering monkey in his head that told him that he was inexplicably bound up in the middle of it all as well.  


**************************************************************************************************  


Castiel fiddled with the display in the window. It had to be perfect. Nothing less than perfection would be good enough for Dean. If he didn’t know better, he would begin to suspect that the Little People had been into his shop, messing with things. It would have been a plausible explanation if there hadn’t been stringently enforced laws preventing the Little People from entering Tân and Hudau wardings around the city walls to help prevent their entry. He was not paranoid, the torc and been moved off the centre of its pillow by…by several fractions of a modfedd. Castiel knew that, because he had measured it when he put the display together and for the third morning in a row, the torc was no longer where he had placed it the day before.  


Every item that he’d sold during that time had come from elsewhere in the shop. So, he could not have inadvertently knocked it retrieving stock for someone else. There were no broken windows, no busted locks. Nothing that indicated a person of normal size had broken in. How the torc had moved was a mystery.  


The upside, every time he had to reset the display, he had the opportunity to improve it. There was absolutely no appeal whatsoever in running his fingers of the intricate weave, and over the smooth finish of the gems while imagining how it would look around Dean’s neck. How it would feel to be the one to remove it at the end of a day. To trace the same line with soft kisses and feel the rasp of Dean’s stubble against his skin. No appeal at all.  


Castiel was lost to this daydream when the door opened.  


“Not actually open yet,” he said without looking at the intruder.  


“Why’s the door open, then?”  


He knew that voice. He couldn’t place where without looking, but he’d certainly had a conversation with the man before.  


“Most people,” Castiel responded testily, “read the sign on the door that says we’re closed.”  


Reluctantly Castiel left the window display and turned his attention to…Gabriel. Now that was unexpected!  


“It occurred to me that we got off on the wrong foot the other day…”  


“And you thought coming into my shop when it clearly isn’t open would help that?”  


“Uh…perhaps not, but it is more private. Better to discuss matters of a personal nature…and unfortunately, I don’t have your home address.”  


Aaaand you’re not getting it either Castiel thought, struggling to keep a neutral face.  


“OOOhhh, is that it? The CalonRhodd? It is magnificent, Cassie. I…um…can call you Cassie, can’t I. Bit of a habit – always giving people knick-names – can’t help myself.”  


Castiel graced Gabriel with a mollifying smile. It seemed easier to acquiesce than argue with the man, because Castiel doubted Gabriel would take any notice of his objection.  


“Honestly, I didn’t come here to talk about that, although…” Gabriel stopped partway through his sentence as if expecting Castiel to launch into some grand explanation of how his search to identify his Enaidffrind had gone. Castiel wasn’t about to do that. Gabriel wasn’t a friend, they’d met once, and the experience hadn’t endeared the wizard to Castiel.  


Thankfully, Gabriel didn’t press the point, swiftly changing the subject to the real reason for wanting a private conversation. “It would be better if we could talk away from the window, in the backroom for example. That way no-one can see us.”  


Castiel was about to argue. Why would that matter? But he’d hardly uttered the first confused syllable when Gabriel flicked his fingers at the door, the lock clicking into place and then marching to the back of the shop. Huffing out a deep breath, Castiel trudged after him. When Gabriel stopped at the counter, Castiel ushered him around it and out into the workshop.  


Gabriel leaned back against a workbench, one ankle crossed over the other, arms crossed.  


Castiel hovered by the door as if he was the one delivering the unknown news, or message, or whatever the Uffern it was.  


“I guess I should have chosen my location better.” Gabriel chuckled in a futile attempt to lighten the tension in the air. “Made sure there weren’t heavy objects you could hit me with…brother.”  


Castiel cocked his head to one side, “Brother?”  


“Yes, little Cassie, my brother.”  


Gabriel’s lips moved; the words too quiet for Castiel to hear. A golden haze emerged out of nowhere, shimmering around Gabriel, dissipating the gloom of the workshop. When the haze disappeared, there was no denying it. Older, more weathered, with crow’s feet around his golden eyes, the grizzled beard a sandy blond flecked with grey, stood Gabriel Novak.  


Was he angry? Was he elated? He was certainly still confused. Castiel gawped at his long-lost, presumed dead, older brother. A glamour! Gabriel had used the charm to conceal his true identity. Castiel couldn’t fathom why his brother had chosen this time to return to Tân. Although, the move from Coeden now seemed more believable.  


“What no hug? No tears of reconciliation? No urge to string up the welcome home banners and throw a party?”  


All Castiel could manage was a choked out, “Why?”  


“Now,” Gabriel said hoisting himself up to sit on the bench and leaning forward, hands resting on his thighs, “that’s the real question, isn’t it? Why come back at all? Why now? Why come in disguise? I could, of course, ask the same questions of you about your sudden desire to find Branwen’s intended – well not all the same questions, but why now, why the urgency, why are thoughts of him occupying your every stray thought?”  


Indeed. He asked himself those very questions every day since he’d felt compelled to start on the torc. The obsession with Dean was…was…he hesitated to admit it, but it was out of character for the usually self-contained and measured Castiel. His whole life, with one glaring exception, he had trained and been trained to suppress strong emotions and any irrational behaviours. Rattled, he shook thoughts of Dean from his head. Understanding Gabriel’s reappearance was the priority.  


“I…we…everyone…I thought you were dead, assbutt!”  


“I was. Very nearly, anyway. Roman’s men dumped me out in the Brachfa a great distance away from the city gates and left me there. I guess they expected me to die before anyone found me. As you can see, I didn’t. A healer from Coeden found me, gave me enough juice so he could get me back there and fix me up properly.”  


“But,” an unwelcome heat pricked Castiel’s eyes, “you never came back. Not even when Adler rested the title of Priffathro from Roman!” The accusation rose like bile in his throat, “you left me here, alone, at the mercy of that dreadful woman who birthed us and then…”  


“I never heard what happened – not for years. It was too late then; you’d survived and made something of yourself without my help. I was proud of you.”  


Anger was winning out. “Proud! You were proud? You couldn’t even manage to send a message letting me know you were alive, yet you knew enough about my life to be proud? So why disrupt everything now? Not like the damn applecart needed turning over is it? Do you even like Balthazar? Were you using him just to get to me?”  


Gabriel winced as he allowed Castiel to continue ranting.  


“Not only that but then you…you use a glamour on me at first. Don’t even do me the courtesy of letting me know it was you. You played the part of the dumb wizard, eager to help me out to ingratiate yourself with Balthazar and con a free meal out of us. You can’t be my brother.”  


“Cassie, Cassie, Cassie. Little brother. Hear me out before you jump to conclusions. What do you know about our stepfather’s activities?”  


“As little as I can get away with.” Castiel had no stomach for the intrigues of politics. It was unchecked ambition that had destroyed their family, and as that appeared to be the modus operandi for anyone with political aspirations, he wanted no part in it. He had seen what unbridled rage did. It had almost destroyed him when he been old enough to wield a sword in vengeance against those who had slaughtered his father and brothers. When he came to from the red mist to find, thankfully, that he had not murdered them, Castiel had vowed never again to let such negative emotions cloud his judgement. He played his part as a member of the merchant Planta when necessary, but only to the extent set out by the laws of Neffroen. Not once since becoming a master gemsmith had he been involved in his birth Planta.  


“He’s planning something. Something that will destroy our way of life forever…”  


“A little melodramatic, even for you, don’t you think?”  


“He wants full control of the Cyngor – to himself. Not as the lead Priffathro, but to rule like a…a…I guess the best analogy is like a god in human form. But the other Priffathro can’t see that yet, so they’re ignoring what he’s doing in Gorllewin, weeding out anyone that might stand against him.”  


“WHAT,” Castiel spat the words out slowly, a syllable at a time, “HAS THAT GOT TO DO WITH ME?”  


“Planta Gorllewin needs you, Cassie. You need to stake your claim and restore order to things. You and your Enaidffrind, your consort. So, tell me who he is. Because I’m betting my secret stash of sweet cakes that you saw a man wearing that torc standing beside you.”  


Just like that, although he was still livid, all Castiel’s resolve crumbled and he consented to hear his brother out. His shop would remain closed that morning.  
*************************************************************************************************  


To say that Dean was royally pissed was an understatement. He and Sam had wasted a day looking for that good for nothing wizard. Gabriel Milton had outsmarted them.

They’d even looked in some of the least likely places for a supposedly high-ranking wizard to be hanging out.  


Apparently, Gabriel was exceedingly wily. The Winchesters weren’t the only hunters that had failed. By late evening, Zachariah Adler had accepted, with much yelling of profanities, that Gabriel Milton had outsmarted all the hunters he had mustered to find him. Adler had admitted, without uttering the actual words, that the fact that he had not been able to have his little conversation with the wizard was not because the Winchesters were lazy good for nothings.  


When the wheels came off Dean’s wagon, they came off spectacularly and anyone with any sense steered clear, until enough coffee, or alcohol, and pie had been consumed to bury Dean’s anger. So, at the asscrack of dawn, Dean was on his third cup of coffee and halfway through the cherry pie that Ellen had given him the night before when he and Sam had drowned their sorrows late into the night at the Fellen Fech.  


The last thing Dean was expecting was a knock on the door.  


“Sam,” he barked, “go see who it is. Not exactly up for visitors.”  


The usually more level-headed Sam was in an equally foul mood as his brother. He had got up, made a pot of coffee on the stove, and retreated with his coffee to his bed.  


“What did your last servant die of? Tell ‘em that yourself,” Sam snapped from his bed.  


Dean shovelled another mouthful of pie into his mouth. If no-one answered, whoever the uninvited visitor was would hopefully get the message and disappear. Dean was glad to say that his plan, such as it was, worked. There wasn’t a second round of knocking.  


Another side effect of Dean the sourpuss, was the dulling of his razor-sharp skills of observation, as succinctly evidenced when he and Sam left the house for day two of the hunt for the elusive Gabriel Milton.  


“Sonofabitch! What fool leaves a…”  


Dean bent down to examine the parcel that he suspected had been the subject of their early morning visitor. A silver salver. No name attached. No indication whether it was for him or Sam either.  


“Got a secret admirer, Mr Winchester?”  


Sam and Dean sighed in unison. Their neighbour meant well, but she was the biggest gossip in their quarter of the city. Within hours, everyone who knew them would know that a salver had been left on the Winchester’s doorstep. Then the rumour mill would grind into action and name after name would become associated with the gift, until whoever had really brought it would be too embarrassed to come forward. Peachy. Absolutely peachy.  


“I don’t think so, Ethel. I wonder if it was left at ours by mistake. Maybe it’s really for you.”  


Ethel flushed pink and giggled, all the years melting away. The light in her eyes revealing the beauty hidden by the many years of a hard life in one of Tân’s poorest districts.

Distracting her like that, gave the brothers time to escape without further questioning.  


Dean dwelt on the gift. He was not aware of Sam having his eye on anyone. Although, it made infinitely more sense that the gift was for his brother. If it was for him, it was a joke. There couldn’t be a woman in the whole of Tân who didn’t know that Dean Winchester wasn’t the settling down type.  


He knew who he wished it was from. Not that he was considering settling down with Cas. After all they didn’t know each other. Would they be compatible at all? Stunning good looks, a voice the memory of which makes the hair stand up on the back of his neck in a good way, and a well-appointed body didn’t mean they could stand to be in the same space as each other for any length of time. And then, even if they were good together, there was a long way between liking each other and committing to some lifelong partnership. But if anyone could persuade Dean Winchester…notwithstanding the fact that Cas was a man and Dean didn’t do men…well that’s what he told himself anyway…there was a sliver of optimism inside Dean that insisted Cas would be the one to change his mind.  


Dean reacted to the thoughts that were bordering on obsessive in the tried and true Winchester fashion – shove any hint of a feeling or emotion down and ignore it. He had other priorities, like finding Gabriel. If they couldn’t find him for a second day, there was no telling what reprisals all the hunters would receive from Zachariah.  


“You think,” Sam started in that voice that meant he already had everything figured out in his giant head. “You think that Castiel knows Gabriel’s back?”  


“Why you asking me, dude?”  


Sam rolled his eyes at his brother’s overly testy reply.  


“I’m asking because other than Adler, I reckon that we’re the only ones who know they’re family.”  


Dean stared blankly at Sam, not yet connecting the dots. Yeah, once again he was left in the dust by his genius brother.  


“Ok, so get this. Yesterday everyone traipsed back and forth across Tân looking in the bars, the coffee houses, the temples, anywhere in the wizardry and healing districts that someone like Milton might spend their time. Even had people camped out close by his lodgings till after dusk. I will guarantee you nobody went through every shop in the merchant’s district, let alone knocked on Castiel’s door. What if that was where Milton was yesterday? With his brother?”  


A chill, an honest to Cernowain chill, ran down Dean’s spine. He may have mused about Cas as Priffathro, but not as…you know…something that would ever happen. When you stitched together what Sam had seen in his divination and the suspicions they already had about Adler with Sam’s theory on Gabriel and Cas being together, it painted a whole disturbing reality to the idea. What if the Novak brothers were planning to challenge Adler?  


“Sammy fancy a quick hunter’s helper at Ellen’s?”  


Sam’s lip curled in distaste. It was early to start, even for Dean on his worst days.  


“Come on, Sammy, something to get us in the right headspace?”  


“Oh, right. Yeah. I think a trip to Ellen’s for COFFEE would be a great idea.”  


Dean huffed shaking his head in mock despair before slinging an arm around Sam’s shoulder to point him in the direction of the Fellen Fech. One day! One day Sammy would get that all this healthy living stuff was a waste of time when you were a hunter. It wasn’t like even within the relative safety of Tân’s city walls and the surrounding forests that hunters had a long life expectancy. If pressed, Dean would admit that he used certain things in his life like crutches to a probably unhealthy degree. But what was the point of being overly cautious about what you ate or drank when someone, or some rampaging animal, was bound to gank you sooner or later?  


Ellen cussed them out but readily gave up her backroom for the Winchesters without needing an explanation. She knew those boys like they were her own kin, even supplying both a large pot of coffee and a bottle of whisky without being asked.  


“Why’re we here, not hunting down the mysterious wizard?”  


“What you said earlier. It…it got me thinking about the events of the last few days. Too many coincidences for my liking. Something is rotten around here, and I would rather we went in eyes open with a couple of plans than walk into traps left, right, and centre. Adler is rattled. Gabriel isn’t a Milton but a Novak who comes back to town under an assumed name when things are getting hinky around here. Then, when Adler wants Gabriel delivered to him gift-wrapped, Gabriel goes to ground. Add to that your current line of thinking about him and Cas being in league together. Well, I could be barking up the wrong tree, but I see a Planta challenge coming and I want to know if we’re in or out? If we’re in, whose side are we on?”  


Sam reached out and poured a generous measure of whisky into his half-drunk coffee.  


“Our own? I mean, I know one of the Novaks could stake a hereditary challenge, but we don’t know what they’d be like. It could be out of the frying pan into the fire.”  


“I get that, dude. That’s why I vote we find Gabriel before anyone else and have our own little chat with him, see if we can’t get more truth out of him than you saw him give Adler. Capisce?”  


“I capisce,” Sam mumbled, looking far from convinced about the plan and taking a large gulp of his coffee. “Where do you suppose we start looking for him after yesterday’s fiasco?”  


Dean considered that for a few moments. If he was sneaking about, posing as someone else, with plans to oust a senior leader, what would he do? Not go back to his place. That was for damn sure. The question was whether he would put Sam in danger by going to him, even if the chances were that nobody yet knew his real identity, so wouldn’t know that they were related. Family was family. Just about the only people you could rely on when things went down. If Dean was planning to overthrow a Priffathro, then Sam would be in danger when people eventually uncovered Dean’s true identity. Forewarned is forearmed. Better for Sam to know what was going on so he could make his own decisions and take whatever actions were necessary to protect himself. Yeah, he’d go hide out with his brother. He was going to take a chance that Gabriel felt the same way.  


*************************************************************************************************  


Castiel thumbed through the book. What to give Dean next? He’d left the silver & jade salver on his doorstep early that morning – with a little help from his fresh ‘back from the dead’ brother’s skills.  


Gabriel. Now, there was a conundrum. A coward who ran because he didn’t want the responsibility of running the Planta. The one brother who professed to truly care for him but left him behind thinking that his closest sibling was dead. Now, he had come waltzing back into his life with some crazy story about their stepfather and an even crazier idea of making Castiel Priffathro in Zachariah’s stead. Messing with Castiel’s head even more with claims that Dean was a significant part of the Gods’ plans for, not just Castiel, but for Neffroen.  


Years of working with metals and gems, crafting beautiful things from the raw materials had been a therapy of sorts. A metaphor for his own life. Castiel had taken the shitty hand he’d been dealt with the loss of his family and being abandoned to the Phabells of Tân and, with Balthazar's help, he had created a meaningful life for himself. That was not to say that Castiel no longer felt any anger at what had happened. It was more that he had learned to live with any curling tendrils of pain that lingered after he had created his new life.  


When he had felt the urge to create the CalonRhodd, accepted that only a man would look right wearing it, and then known the second Dean entered his shop that Dean was the one he’d created it for, Castiel had expected a quiet, uneventful life would follow.  


Was it fair to bring Dean into this fight?  


“Open up, Cassie. I know you’re in there.”  


“Gabriel, what in Uffern are you doing here?”  


“You weren’t at home, so I reckoned that you’d have come here after delivering your little gift. How’d it go?”  


Castiel swung open the back door to his shop to let Gabriel in.  


Gabriel stepped through the door, rummaging around in the small messenger bag he had slung across his body. “Aha, success. I knew I had some honey cakes in here. Got any honey buried around this place?”  


“Uh, maybe try in the corner above the logs, amongst the tins and jars on the lowest shelf.” Typical Gabriel, more concerned about his consumption of sweet things than answering anyone’s questions. Some things hadn’t changed over the years. “You going to sit here and stuff your face, or are you going to tell me why you’re here?”  


Gabriel paused his rummaging around on the shelf and turned back to face Castiel, with a sheepish look on his face.  


“GABRIEL?”  


“Our dearly beloved stepfather has apparently put out an order for the hunters – any hunter – to bring me, well the wizard Gabriel Milton – to see him. Guessing he isn’t buying the glamour or something?” Gabriel gave a contrite shrug.  


“Ok, so with that piece of information in your head, you decided that the smartest thing to do was to go to ground at your brother’s place? Genius! Zachariah is a pompous oaf, but if he suspects who you are then surely, they’ll be watching me for any sign of contact with you.”  


Gabriel gave up the hunt for extra sweetness, cramming the whole of a honey cake into his mouth, avoiding answering immediately.  


Castiel sank down on his anvil, running his hands through his hair. How had his simple life been turned around in a little over a week? He waited for Gabriel to swallow the mouthful of cake.  


“Not necessarily. Then again, if he’s set all the hunters on me, I think there’s one green-eyed handsome one you wouldn’t mind turning up on your doorstep now, isn’t there? Anyhoo, enough about little old me. What did your beau say to the bejewelled salver?”  


It was Castiel’s turn to be ashamed. “I don’t know. I left it on their doorstep.”  


“Oh, for the love of Don little brother! For someone so smart, you can be so dense at times. I see that hasn’t changed over the years. I didn’t label it when I enchanted it. So poor old Dean-o is no doubt scratching his head trying to figure out who sent the damn thing and if it really was meant for him!”  


Castiel was about to defend himself, studiously picking at the ingrained dirt in his fingernails, when the shop’s front door rattled. His heart jumped to his mouth. “Stay right here…no, maybe find somewhere to hide in…uh…crap…”  


The door rattled again. A gruff voice called out, “Could you open the door please, Mr Novak.”  


With a worried look back at his brother, who was nonchalantly starting on his second honeycake, Castiel hurried to the storefront. Aerten was playing with him! Standing outside his door, in full hunter garb was Dean Winchester. There was another hunter with him, so Castiel deduced that this was not a social call. If they came out of this alive, he was going to kill Gabriel.  


He couldn’t help himself. Seeing Dean, Castiel’s sneaked a glimpse of the torc still in pride of place in the window. Once again it had been disturbed during the night – which was even stranger than any time before because he and Gabriel had stayed in the workshop until after 3 o’clock and he’d come straight back after delivering the gift for Dean. Castiel had a theory about what was going on. Despite appearances, his hypothesis didn’t contain the Little People. He’d investigate further after he’d dealt with whatever Dean wanted.  


“Mr Winchester, what can I do for you. I’m afraid my shop is closed right now. I have a rush order to complete on a special custom piece.” That was the truth. All Castiel had omitted was that he was the customer, and Dean the intended recipient.  


Dean barged through the door, gently pushing Castiel aside. The other hunter followed on Dean’s heels, looking furtively over his shoulder then shutting and bolting the door behind him.  


“Mr Novak,” the tall man began in a hushed tone, “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”  


Castiel’s shoulders sagged. Talk about déjà vu! He offered up a silent prayer to all the deities that came to mind that Gabriel had taken his advice and found somewhere to conceal himself.  


“Yes,” he sighed, “we can go through to the workshop. Please though, don’t touch anything.”  


Castiel stomped slowly through to the workshop. His footsteps were louder than was necessary in the hope that Gabriel would get the hint that something was amiss. To his relief, his older brother was nowhere in sight when Castiel entered the room.  


“Mr Winchester I know. We met a couple of weeks ago. You are?” Castiel nodded at Dean’s companion.  


“Sam. Sam Winchester.”  


“Well in that case, do you mind if I call you Sam? The other Mr Winchester…if I remember correctly is…Dean.”  


“Yeah. Sam and Dean are just fine. Like I told you before, Mr Winchester sounds too much like our dad.”  


So, they were brothers. Oh, Uffern, did they share the house? What if? What if either of them thought that Sam was the intended recipient of the salver? Castiel swiped a hand across the back of his neck where a clammy sweat had appeared.  


Dean and Sam appeared to be casing the room. Castiel had been correct to be wary. Someone had put together the connection between him and Gabriel.  


“What is it you needed to speak about that required privacy?”  


“It’s a bit of a…uh…well…I guess you might say a convoluted story.”  


Sam was nibbling at the corner of his thumbnail. Dean had wiped his hand over his mouth during the pause in his statement. They weren’t so sure of their facts as Castiel had assumed. If he could play it cool enough, maybe he could get them out of the shop without incident. Although, nervousness aside, he was enjoying getting to see Dean and hear his voice again. An unexpected treat that could help inspire his next courtship offering.  


“You’d better start explaining then,” Castiel said, settling himself back on the anvil and gesturing for them to find somewhere to sit or something to lean against.  


**********************************************************************************************  


For a moment, Dean second-guessed himself. He risked a sideways glance at Sammy who was still surveying the room. Trust Sam to scrutinise every possible nook and cranny someone might squeeze themselves into. Something sparked under his hand. He had rested it on the nearest surface as soon as they entered Cas’s workshop. If there was any untoward Hudau activity, Sam would let him know. But, would Sam’s skill stand up against a high-ranking wizard? Dean had faith in his younger brother.  


Cas’s directness took him by surprise. Normally he was the king of improvisation; the first one to the draw with a witty remark. Having a ‘honey-tongue’ Bobby called it. Dean had a plan for what to do about the possible Novak vs. Adler challenge, but not a goddamn clue about what to say.  


When Cas made himself comfortable and indicated that he and Sam should do the same, Dean leaned back against the doorframe. Ready for a quick exit, perhaps? 

Interestingly, Sam had chosen to sit up on one of the workbenches. He’d adopted a relaxed pose, but he was still worrying at his thumbnail.  


“Ok, so cards on the table here. We’ve been directed by the Priffathro of Planta Gorllewin, Zachariah Adler, to find a wizard by the name of G Milton and bring him to Adler. All peachy on the surface. Nothing unusual in that given we’re hunters. But here’s the darndest thing, Adler has had his panties in a bunch over any hunter or warrior who doesn’t kowtow to him obsequiously. We’ve even-handed a couple of guys over to him. Never heard of them again. Now, bearing that in mind, when he first asked us to find that wizard there was a barely concealed threat against us in that order. Fail and you’ll be for it. We did fail, but instead of having our heads, Adler set all the hunters out looking for Mr Milton.”  


Sam looked like he was about to have a conniption. Dean frowned at his brother. Uh, ok. He read Sammy’s message loud and clear.  


Dean continued, “Not one hunter found any trace of this mysterious man. Adler is so determined to find Milton that he’s commanded all the hunters to spend the day tracking him down. That being the case, Cas, why are we here bothering you? Couple of coincidences have me scratching my head about Mr Milton. Firstly, I don’t understand why a high-ranking and talented wizard would just up and leave Coeden. Then, it appears that you and Mr Milton share a common friend – Balthazar Roché. The three of you were spotted having lunch at the Fellen Fech.”  


Was that? Yes! Cas’s dispassionate demeanour wavered briefly. In the short time before Cas schooled his face back into that emotion, Dean was certain he caught a glimpse of panic, adding credence to his theory about the brothers.  


“With a little bit of…research,” Dean’s eyes flicked over to Sam’s amused face. Well, using the seer’s gifting was research – after a fashion. “We discovered that one of your brothers had been called Gabriel. Fascinating thing, which I know that you know, after the terrible murder of your father and brother’s, Gabriel’s body was never recovered. Everyone simply assumed he’d died alongside your father, Lucifer and Michael. Now, this is where I start stitching everything together. Please interrupt me if I’m getting anything wrong. Adler is worried someone is about to challenge him. Him being that bothered by a wizard, who has no credible reason to relocate to Tân, makes me wonder if the wizard is truly who he claims to be. So, when you add those facts to you having a long-lost brother called Gabriel who could just as easily have disappeared after the massacre as be killed during, I wonder if Mr G Milton and Gabriel Novak are one and the same. After all, you’ve been successful in a field other than your birthright, haven’t you Cas?”  


Sam was nigh on doing a frigging jig on the workbench.  


“Anything to add, Sam?”  


“There’s peculiar energy in this room. Call me paranoid, but it’s like…well, like there’s a fourth person in the room with us.”  


Cas was losing his cool. Yeah, he was trying hard with the disinterest in his and Sam’s story, but it was fraying at the edges. Cas had Gabriel stashed somewhere. Dean was a betting man and he liked his and Sam’s odds more than he liked Cas’s.  


“Uh-huh. Interesting that my talented brother senses another presence. I kinda wondered when I hand my hand on the bench there and I felt a sort of fizzing. I knew Sammy would figure it out if anything was hinky. So, putting Sam’s intuition to one side for a bit, what say we get back to my tale? If it were me and Sam who’d had the opportunity to lead a Planta and had it stolen from us not once, but twice, I’d be pretty pissed and determined to take my rightful place. I’d be more motivated if the guy currently in place was an asshole with an ego the size of the planet and zero charisma, who was going about offing people for no apparent reason other than they might have looked at him funny. If my long-lost brother turned up, I’d help him out, maybe even work with him to get one of us back in our rightful place.”  


Dean grinned at Cas. Damn his piercing stare. Even with his calm exterior evaporating the guy’s eyes were the most hypnotic Dean had ever seen. Focus Winchester! Focus.  


“It’s an interesting tale, Dean. However, I can assure you that I have no plans to challenge Adler. If I wished to do so, why would I have wasted my time honing my crafts with metal and gems? Now, I freely admit to having met Mr Milton over lunch at the Fellen Fech alongside Balthazar. But that has been the only time we have met. Whoever the wizard Gabriel Milton is, he is not my brother come back from the dead. ”  


“Ok, saying I believe you – because of course, why wouldn’t I?” Dean changed position. Now instead of leaning against the door frame, he was standing in the doorway holding onto both sides of the frame, to all intents and purposes blocking the exit. “Care to explain why my brother is convinced there’s someone else here?”  


Cool as anything, without even a pause that might indicate he was thinking up a believable story Cas replied, “Balthazar and I were here until the early hours of the morning working together with some quite intense levels of Hudau on a couple of pieces that we’re collaborating on. A showcase of our slightly differing talents for a very particular client. I expect that is what Sam can sense.”  


Dammit! Sam didn’t raise any objections. He’d simply shrugged like Cas’s story could check out.  


“If that’s all, gentlemen. I would like to get back to my commission. The deadline is far tighter than I would like, and I do also need to open my shop.”  


Dean and Sam exchanged one of their silent communications. Dean had nothing else he could throw at Cas without making any wild accusations, and apparently neither did Sam.  


Sam hopped down off the workbench and crossed to the door, standing to Dean’s right side, he fixed Cas with a smart aleck face, “Thank you for your time, Mr Novak…”  


“Castiel.”  


“Castiel…you can always reach us through the Fellen Fech or our house on Pen Llech Street in Druanside…should Mr Milton make contact with you.”  


Dean flashed his most flirtatious grin Well, in for a copper cridde, in for a silver cridde. A good opportunity to see if Cas might be tempted to swing Dean’s way. “If that does happen, can I suggest that for EVERYONE’S best interests, you make sure that we’re the only hunters you tell.”  


“Oh,” Cas responded, “of course. I doubt any other hunters would even come by here. I mean who would even think that the coincidence of the new wizard in town and my dead brother sharing a name would mean what you have suggested, Dean?”  


That stung. Dean could have sworn that he and Sam had picked this right. Sam had even cast one last lingering look over to the woodstore as they left the workshop like he was searching for where that energy was coming from. Gabriel had to have been hiding in that shop somewhere, he knew it! What Dean couldn’t do was disprove Cas and demonstrate that he and Sam were correct. At least he had one small glimmer of light from the debacle. Cas’s eyes had crinkled at the corner when he gave Dean that roasting. Dean decided, against any logic, to take that as evidence that Cas was teasing him – because Cas liked Dean. Yeah, ok as if! But whatever you need to tell yourself to get through the shitty days – right?  


**************************************************************************************************  


Castiel didn’t utter a syllable as he bolted the door behind the Winchester brothers. Gabriel was so going to be dead. For real this time, because Castiel was going to kill him.  


“Stay here. Do not make a sound,” he hissed at the pile of logs where he suspected Gabriel had made himself invisible. “I’m going to fetch Balthazar. To make my story credible, we’d better have a boatload of his energy in the workshop. Maybe you could do something useful while I’m gone. Like, oh say, turn yourself into a cat?”  


An eerily disembodied voice answered barely above a whisper, “Hey, shouldn’t that be the other way round? You know, being as I’m the wizard? It is more usual for a witch or a wizard to have a familiar than a smith, after all.”  


Castiel didn’t bother gracing his brother with a reply. He slammed out the back door into the cool spring air, wondering how to approach his best friend and wishing that he’d stopped to pick up his jacket. This was all Balthazar’s fault in the first place. If he’d never introduced them, then maybe Gabriel would never have come knocking on his door. Castiel could then have carried on in blissful ignorance, believing that he had met the same fate as Michael and Lucifer. Except this was Gabriel Novak. He would have beaten a path to Castiel’s door at some point with his stupid plan to take back the rule of the Planta that neither of them belonged to anymore. The issue here was how much to tell Balthazar. Castiel owed him his life. Was it fair to drag him into Novak family business and put Balthazar’s life in danger?  


Three streets away from his own shop, mixed in among the tailors, seamstresses and milliners was Balthazar’s accessories and costume jewellery shop. Castiel went directly to the back door. He braced himself for hearing Balthazar with one of the rich creatives that adored his flamboyant pieces. Thankfully, there was silence. However, just in case, Castiel rapped on the door in the customary manner that told Balthazar it was him and not some irate partner.  


“Castiel, um…hi. Just about to open up shop. Why…?”  


“No time to explain here,” Castiel panted. “Please just follow me back to my shop. I’ll explain everything when we get there, I promise. Hurry, please.”  
Balthazar stood open-mouthed for a few seconds, his eyes taking in his friend’s appearance. Without stopping to do anything except lock the door, he followed Castiel back the three streets to ceremonial artefacts store.  


“Er, Castiel, why is there a large, extremely smug-looking ginger tom sitting in the middle of the half-finished love spoon set on your work-bench? This? This is what is so urgent? It’s only a cat! Ok, didn’t take you for a cat guy, but…”  


Castiel rolled his eyes and held up a finger for Balthazar to stop.  


“You,” he said pointing a finger at the cat, “off that – NOW! I don’t want to have to clean cat hair off them.”  


The cat jumped down immediately and began winding through Castiel’s legs, making sure to rub its head against him at every opportunity, covering his calves in the cat’s scent.  


“Bad kitty. Go find a rat to chase or something.!”  


Instead, the cat sat directly in front of him looking back and forth between Castiel and Balthazar. Castiel got the message loud and clear.  


“Tea?”  


Balthazar leant back against the same workbench Sam Winchester had been sitting on. “Sure, why not? Now why’s this cat here and why’s it got you so worked up?”  


Castiel poked at the fire, encouraging it to roar into life. He snapped his finger and the cast-iron kettle hooked itself onto the crochan over the flames.  


“That…is not a cat! That - is Gabriel.”  


Balthazar repeated his fish impression, cocking his head to one side quizzically.  


“Yes, that Gabriel.” Castiel moved right up close to Balthazar so he could whisper, “who is also my brother and not Gabriel Milton.”  


Balthazar clicked his jaw shut. His eyes narrowed and his nose scrunched up in confusion.  


“I know,” Castiel rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands. “It makes no sense now, but it will. I’ll explain over tea. Now while I’m making that, care to add a touch of that Roché magic to the spoons? They’re fine, but lacking a little…”  


“Je ne sais quoi?”  


“Indeed.” Castiel set about finding the leaves for his special brew, leaving Balthazar to ponder over what it was Dean’s next gift was missing. Behind him, he could hear the sparks of Hudau flying as Balthazar tweaked the spoons. There was a danger that the ever flamboyant Balthazar would go too far making the love spoon set too outrageous for someone like Dean. However, Castiel’s only other option was to allow Balthazar to let his Hudau loose in the workshop. The results of that could be disastrous in comparison to Balthazar adding more of his artistic flair to the love spoons.  


Balthazar stood back with a flourish. Castiel stopped the nervous twisting of his fingers and bolted over to the workbench to see the finished articles. Between them they had chosen the right symbolism for the whole set. Each spoon had a bright-eyed dragon, with either blue or green gemstones for eyes, and a series of knots linking the other carvings. The two emblems created a theme of Dean and Castiel’s lives being entwinned forever in the giving and receiving of strength and protection from one another.  


Castiel checked outside the backdoor under the guise of sweeping the mess that Balthazar had left out into the alleyway. There was no-one lurking, just as no-one was standing watching the front of the store. It appeared his, probably uncalled for, jibe at Dean about his Novak brothers plot theory had been correct. They were as safe to talk as they were ever likely to be. Also, he’d got to see the charming dusting of pink across Dean’s freckles again, so maybe the teasing wasn’t totally unnecessary.  


“I’ve done my part, so spill!” Balthazar settled back into Castiel’s favourite spot on the anvil with the mug of tea.  


Gabriel had stretched out, still in cat form, in front of the fire and was lazily licking honey from one paw.  


Castiel made a mental note to gift that pot of honey to his brother, as he made himself comfortable where Sam had been sitting.  


Ten minutes later, Balthazar had neither said a word nor drunk a drop of tea and was scowling at ginger tom Gabriel.  


“Well, I guess I’m initiated into the little club now then. Do I get to be an honorary member of Gorllewin when this is done?”  


Castiel fixed him with a serious gaze, “If we’re successful, I don’t see why not. But why would you want to?”  


“Honestly, Castiel! For all the women that will throw themselves at me. That’s why! Nothing’s hotter than a man in touch with all of his sides – sensitive, creative, amazing lover and a badass warrior type to boot.”  


Yeah, he probably should have guessed that would be the answer.  


“I’ll think about it. So should you – with your upstairs brain for once. What I’m about to do isn’t a joke. There could be serious implications for anyone who’s seen as being on my side if I fail. Are you willing to face those consequences?”  


Balthazar’s face was the picture of incredulity. “For Aeron’s sake, Castiel, I’m already too involved. I put myself on the line the day I decided that I would befriend the little wretch I found in the Phabells swinging between inconsolable snivelling and righteous fury. Granted I never thought we’d be having conversations about restoring you to your rightful place in society, but I made my choice too many years ago to back out now. So, what’s my first duty?”  


“Deliver this to Dean. Please?”  


**************************************************************************************************  


“You worthless bunch of morons are a disgrace to the Planta. Not one of you deserves the title hunter. Not one! Do I really have to get the soldiers out just to hunt down a pathetic little wizard? I’m surprised Tân ever has anything other than grains to eat with you responsible for bringing in the meat.”  


Zachariah was purple in the face. The great hall of Planta Gorllewin was bursting at the seams as every single hunter and warrior crammed in to hear the Priffathro’s tirade.  


Sam jabbed Dean in the thigh, reminding him not to smirk or make any wise-ass comment. Now was the time to suck it up like the rest of them and pray to every possible deity that Adler wasn’t insane enough to imprison the city’s hunters and tie up many of its warriors over one elusive wizard.  


“Wizards can be tricky, Sir,” Jackson ventured, “ with their glamours, transmogrification and invisibility spells.”  


Zachariah waved Jackson away dismissively. “That is not the point. Hunters hunt and bring back the prey. Beli forfend that all of you are that incompetent and devoid of Hudau that you couldn’t even catch a whiff of the man.”  


Dean swallowed as he noticed Adler’s eyes alight on Sam. Of course, he’d have expected the feted Sam Winchester, the two-gifted, highly powered seer and talented hunter with more Hudau than any one person had a right to, would have caught something on the wind of Gabriel’s presence. Adler was right too; Sam had found Gabriel in Cas’s workshop yesterday morning. But no way was either of them going to divulge that information, because other than the two Winchester brother’s being convinced, they still had no proof. Besides, Dean had made his mind up. Despite what Bobby said, Dean knew he had to pick a side, he couldn’t sit this one out. If the challenge came, Dean would side with the Novak’s. It was the right thing for the people of Tân. Uffern, it was the right thing for all the people of Neffroen, getting rid of Zachariah Adler. It needed doing by whatever means possible. Just because that ‘means’ had the sexiest voice, the most kissable lips, enticingly messy black hair, and athletic body, didn’t make Cas the wrong horse to back.  


“Well I guess there’s nothing for it then,” Zachariah sat back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. “As Priffathro of the Planta Gorllewin I hereby decree that until I say otherwise, the hunters of Tân are hereby restricted to hunting game, fowl and fishing. All activities relating to policing of the city will now rest exclusively with my elite Breniol guard. Any hunter found violating this decree will be jailed immediately for an undetermined period. Carry on.”  


With that, the whole Planta was dismissed. Sam snagged Bobby as he went by. Dean sneaked his way through the crowd of hunters and warriors until he found Benny and dragged him back to the waiting Sam and Bobby. They weren’t conspicuous. There were groups of hunters and warriors gathering outside the great hall in the weak sunshine, all trying to fathom why their leader was so worked up over this wizard from Coeden that no-one had heard of a fortnight ago.  


“Fellen Fech, boys?”  


Sam and Dean nodded in unison. Benny looked unsure.  


“Come on, Benny. Jo won’t bite, well not unless you ask her to!”  


“It’s not Miss Harvelle I’m concerned about, brother,” Benny groused in his thick Dyfrian accent. “It’s being seen with you three that bothers me. You know Adler was poking at young Sam in there.”  


“We know, idjit,” Bobby retorted. “He’s always had it for the Winchesters. No prizes for guessing who set that damn fool of a father of theirs up. I get tarred with the same brush because, well…I’m me and I speak my mind. If you’re that bothered, why’d you follow Dean over here then?”  


Benny grinned from ear to ear, “Because I smell something fishier than a Dyfrian trawler in the heat of summer. Something big is going down if our dearly beloved Priffathro is that worked up he’s setting us soldiers to police the city instead of plotting how to…” Benny stopped and took a deep breath. “I do believe I was promised a whiskey. Shall we?”  


Ellen didn’t bat an eyelid as Bobby ushered the three others straight into the bar’s backroom. Bobby used that room like it was his own, and the Winchesters weren’t that far behind. Despite the bar being a favourite haunt of many hunters, Ellen had no problem showing favouritism. The bar may have been hers after Bill had died, but once she’d married Bobby, Ellen saw the bar as being his as much as it was hers. So, if Bobby was holding court in the back room, Ellen would keep the hunter’s helper and the coffee flowing free of charge.  


“You two idjits know more than you’re letting on, don’t you? More than when you bored the pants off me last week at some ungodly hour of the morning. Don’t bother keeping anything back. And you,” Bobby jabbed a finger into Benny’s chest, “you know something about what else Adler’s up to. You’re gonna tell us all about it.”  


Dean and Sam got the other two up to speed on Gabriel and Castiel Novak. Of course, missing out the very pertinent details, in Dean’s mind at least, about how Cas had his eye on someone for his Enaidffrind. Someone that wasn’t Dean, even if he had convinced himself Cas had been flirting with him at the end of their last meeting.  


Then it was Benny’s turn. He gulped down two doubles in quick succession to add to the two he’d sipped while listening to Dean and Sam. He raked his hands through his hair, rolled his neck, and poured the remains of the bottle into his glass before beginning.  


“After what I heard from you two, I think I can add a little more meat to the bones. The elusive wizard isn’t back here to challenge on a whim. Nuh-uh. Adler has had us training harder than ever before. He’s even had riders back and forward to Coeden and Dyfrian with orders on how the garrisons there should train. Top-secret orders from him personally, not the Cygnor as a whole mind. The kind of thing you do when there’s a war coming – you know like when Kytheria tried to raid five years ago, and everyone was preparing for a full-scale invasion? That kind of preparation. Now, I ain’t the smartest tool in the box, I’m only a lieutenant in the guard, but if it was about defending the realm, surely those orders would come signed from all Uchelwir of the Cygnor.”  


“Balls! The imbecile is planning to take over the whole bloody planet, isn’t he? Why’s no-one else figured this out?”  


Benny shrugged, scratching at his beard, “Maybe they have, and they don’t care enough to do anything about it? Me – I’d rather…well, I’d rather anything than have him ruling the whole Uffern planet. So, what’s the plan?”  


“Get Cas to admit Gabriel is who we know he is,” Dean blurted out without really having thought through how to do that after their last unsuccessful attempt, or what came next if they did succeed.  


“And then?” Sam asked unhelpfully with a smirk on his face.  


“Then we tell them that we’re on their side, swear whatever we need to so we can prove we’re not spies. Learn who else they’ve got backing them, what their plan of campaign looks like. At the same time we begin finding out what we can about who’s going to be on Adler’s side and then start working on everyone else to get them to join the Novaks.”  


“If we’re wrong about this, and the wizard is who he claims to be?”  


All four men sat in silence until Bobby’s gruff voice spoke the words they all knew to be true, “Then we still have to deal with Adler’s delusions of grandeur, Novak help or not.”  


**************************************************************************************************  


“You know where they live, right? Place it so that Dean can’t miss it when he opens the door. Don’t let anyone see you. Um…I think that’s it. Uh…no…no that’s not all…um…can you…um, make sure that err…um….”  


“Cassie! Calm down. Balthazar may not know anything about the course of true love, but he knows a thing or two about sneaking around other people’s houses undetected!”  


Castiel’s eyes widened, not yet used to hearing a cat speak or wink.  


Balthazar looked equally disconcerted  


“I resent that, Gabriel! You make it sound like I rob people, which I do not. I merely know how to avoid detection from unexpectedly returning husbands. I have some standards you know!”  


“I have it all under control, Cassie! Just act normal around here and leave Operation Dean to me.” Balthazar reassured Castiel while throwing a dirty look in the direction of the leering Gabriel cat. “Anything else you need me to do after that, or can I return to making a living.”  


“Pshaw! You sell a single bauble to one of those obscenely rich customers of yours and you can afford to live better than most people for a month!”  


“Like I said,” Balthazar quipped looking back over his shoulder as he left the workshop with the love spoons under his arm, “I have standards. They require me to maintain…shall we say…a sizeable income.”  


Gabriel hissed at Balthazar from his spot by the fire, the fur on the back of his neck standing up.  


“Oh, be quiet, Gabe. Not like you’ve been living hand to mouth, is it? Now, you turning back by yourself or do I have to…” Castiel raised his hands in a show of preparing to use his Hudau on his brother. He doubted he’d be able to turn Gabriel back into a human because that kind of spell was mostly only something that witches, wizards and warlocks were able to do. It was worth threatening though because maybe the ability was simply lying dormant as Naomi’s genetics hadn’t been triggered in Castiel as they had in Gabriel.  


Gabriel trotted out from his place by the fire, stood up on his back paws and with an unnecessary yowl transformed back into his usual form.  


“What we working on? Operation Dean, or Operation Reclaim?”  


“I am going to open my store like I didn’t yesterday. Unlike Balthazar, I do have to sell more than one piece a month to survive. Especially now I have a peculiarly sweet-toothed ginger tom to feed. Can you find out how trustworthy the Winchesters are and who their key connections are in the Planta? Like secretly find out, I mean.”  


“Never fear, little brother. I’m not known as one of the most powerful wizards in Coeden for nothing. I have ways and means to make those things happen. Don’t you forget it once you’re in your rightful place.”  


Castiel laughed. The first genuine laugh he’d had in over a week. Thinking of himself as Priffathro was a daunting thing, but with Dean, Gabriel, and Balthazar by his side, he stood a chance of making it work. If not…if not…yeah, best not to think about what happened if he didn’t.  


“I think you should concentrate on how you’re going to stay undetected.”  


“I really need to work on your faith in my abilities. What happened to the hero-worshipping little brother?” Gabriel sighed.  


“You died and I grew up. It happens. Get over it.” Castiel quipped turning his back on Gabriel.  


“Right-o, Operation Re-claim it is. I’ll make us a cup of…ugh…screw that idea. I’ll make coffee – that nettle tea you drink makes me nauseous – even with copious amounts of honey.”  


Castiel paused in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder at Gabriel. “Coffee will do just fine. I think there’s some parchment lurking around somewhere. Remember that old cypher we used to use when we didn’t want Michael or Lucifer to know what we were up to? Use it to write what you know about the ‘protocol’ for reclaiming our place…oh, and Gabe don’t get up to any mischief in here, or next time you transform…well you kitty might have to take a proper bath – if you catch my drift?”  


Gabriel gave him a mock salute then busied himself filling the kettle while Castiel set about opening the store.  


His first port of call was the window display. For the first time since he’d set it there, the torc had not been moved confirming his theory. As Castiel suspected, the Little People were not to blame. The disruptor of the CalonRhodd window display had been one Gabriel Novak. Castiel, Balthazar and Gabriel had been in the workshop together for the whole of the previous day and night, with Gabriel in cat form. Castiel couldn’t recall Gabriel having the opportunity to sneak around and mess with the display. Seeing the torc set exactly how it was supposed to be made Castie’s mood soar. He couldn’t help himself. Castiel reached out and touched the torc. In a move that had become his habit, Castiel’s hands ghosted over the twisted bronze, lingering to feel the contrasting smoothness of the gems. As usual, his mind wandered. What would it be like to do that when it sat in its rightful place around Dean’s neck? When he could contrast the hardness of the torc with the softness of Dean’s skin. Would he allow his fingertips to dip into the hollow at Dean’s throat, then trace a line up over his Adam’s apple when the soft skin gave way to the prickle of stubble, and then finally up to those lush pink lips.  


A clatter and slew of curing from the back room pulled Castiel back to the present. Once he was assured that nothing catastrophic had happened in his workshop, he began mulling over what he knew of the Challenge process. It was masn’t much. Castiel couldn’t remember much about what had happened during the two Challenges he’d lived through either. The only thing he did know was that winning the challenge didn’t rest solely on ability, the Planta got a say in whether they believe the winner was the right person to be Priffathro. Getting people on his side wasn’t Castiel’s forte. It had been Gabriel’s. As a child Gabriel had a silver tongue that could charm the birds out of the trees, or as was often the case charm their parents out of punishing them when the pair of them got up to no good. He suspected that it was one of Dean’s talents too. That easy, flirtatious style he’d come to understand that Dean had with most people, but it would seem not with Castiel, would make Dean good at winning people to his cause too. Unlike Gabriel, Dean could be seen around the city and canvass on Castiel’s behalf. The was one downside to that thinking, Dean wasn’t his to ask the favour of. The even more sobering thought, if Castiel was wrong about the CalonRodd, Dean might never be.  


**********************************************************************************************  


“What the ever-loving Aeron!”  


Dean startled awake. He’d fallen asleep at the table, his hunting knives laying where he’d left them for cleaning and sharpening. The room was cool, the fire burned down to its last embers. Slowly it all started coming back to him, the Planta meeting, Adler’s turning over of all non-animal hunting duties to the Breniol guard, Benny’s tales of Adler’s desire for total control of Neffroen, and the commitment to do whatever it took to stop him.  


“There’s another one of these gifts outside the door. I tripped over the Uffern thing on my way in,” Sam grumbled throwing the offending package onto the table in front of Dean.  


Dean picked it up. He turned it over in his hand not sure what it was he was looking for other than some way to tell who the gifts kept coming from or who they were for. He was still certain that if they were for one of them, it would be for Sam. Sam had vehemently denied knowing anyone who would send him gifts. Neither brother thought the idea of a secret admirer probable.  


“Guessing the overnight shift wasn’t fun?”  


“It was fine, Dean. Had more customers than usual for the night shift. Just tired is all. Any clues on that thing?”  


Dean shook his head. He tossed the package from hand to hand weighing up the next move. The gifts were a distraction from the strain of dealing with Zachariah Adler. However, he had to know. Buried way down in the core of his being, Dean had a secret yearning for someone to love him and see him as he was not who he projected. What if, by the strangest coincidence known to Cernowain, the gifts were for him? The salver had been made of silver encrusted with jade. It was a ridiculous thing to hope for, but it was possible that they’d all been made by Castiel Novak. Admittedly, even if Cas had made them, it didn’t mean Cas had sent them. There was, though, a slim chance that Cas had sent them to Dean. Dean was going to hold onto that minuscule possibility with everything that he was worth – but no way was he telling Sam that.  


“Cerridwen, I’ve been an idiot!” Sam exclaimed snatching the package out of Dean’s hands. “Let me see if I can get anything from the energy. I might be able to recognise the signature aura that’s attached to the object – not the maker’s Hudau, but the intention energy that’s been woven into it – you know like when you charge up your ceremonial knife.”  


Sam unwrapped the package, three different sized etched metal spoons tumbled onto the table in front of him. “Guess that answers one question. These gifts are most definitely from a suitor. I’ll get Kevin to tell me what the promises carved onto them are, but whoever had them made is serious about their intended.”  


Dean’s heart did not skip a beat. It didn’t!  


“Get the salver, and um…maybe…get your new ceremonial.”  


Dean only had to open his mouth to ask why Sam needed the knife before Sam answered the unspoken question, “I can use it as a baseline, we know that was made by Castiel with no other intention than to go in his stock for sale. It is possible that different metalsmiths made the two gifts, but if it was me sending anonymous gifts to someone I wanted to court, I’d get one person to make everything.”  


Dean fetched the knife, remembering how Cas had been so forthright in telling Dean that this knife with the dragon carvings and the blue stones was the perfect one for 

Dean, better than the horse carvings with red stones. Blue stones like Cas’s eyes. Did he suggest that knife on purpose? Ok, now Dean was entering la la land with his flights of fancy about the metalsmith. Cas had merely been a good shopkeep.  


He watched with bated breath as Sam hovered his hand above the three items. Fast, then slow. Changing which order he held his hand above the objects. Sam compared the energies. Finally, he looked at his brother.  


“How d’you feel about running your hands over smooth planes of chest and flat hips rather than over the dips and curves of breasts and child-bearing hips?”  


Dean’s head whipped up to lock eyes with his brother’s. “Bitch!”  


“Seriously, Jerk. How would you feel if I said that there is little difference in energy between all three items?”  


“Say that again in plain Neffroeden, Sammy. I’m not sure I understood what you’re insinuating.” Because, good news or not, there was Winchester face to save. Dean wasn’t particularly ready for the rest of the world to see behind those walls of bravado, and he certainly wasn’t going to tear them down just yet if Sam wasn’t on side.  


Sam sighed at his brother. “Dean, there’s nothing wrong with two men being together. If Aerten has crossed your path with the one Branwen declared your Enaidffrind, then it is the will of the Gods for you to be together. I don’t believe there is anything in any of the religious texts about same-sex relationships being wrong. If you ask me, I think our ancestors invented the view that only the creatives could pair up like that to protect the righteousness of the so-called “important” Planta.”  


“What does it mean,” Dean demanded in his most irritated tone.  


“It means that I think Castiel Novak made the two gifts for his own future anwyld. Which, seeing as he’d never met me before we barged in there to interrogate him a couple of days ago, means he sent them for you.”  


Not quite ready to give up the pretence yet, Dean shoved his chair backwards, sending it clattering to the floor as he stood up. “Stop being an ass, Sam! The guy met me for ten minutes at most, during which time we talked about which knife suited me best. End of story. That’s an awful lot of trouble to go to for someone you know nothing about. Besides,” he was on a roll now, “if these were for me, then why make such a song and dance about his custom order and all that other stuff he blathered on about when we were asking him about his brother?”  


“I don’t know, De. All I can tell you is that apart from on the spoons, where someone else has tweaked them a bit, most of the creation and all the intent energy has Castiel’s signature the same as your knife. Good job we weren’t considering siding with Adler.”  


Dean righted the chair and slumped down into it. “Yeah. Go us! Is it too early to start drinking?”  


“Never stopped you before. I’m going to bed. Wake me up in four hours. Oh, and Dean, scrounge up some food from somewhere can you, I don’t think I’ve eaten anything since yesterday morning.”  


That explained a lot! Come to think of it neither had he. He’d drunk Benny under the table after Sam and Bobby had left the Fellen Fech and then had decided to clean his knife collection at the table and, at some point during the process, fallen asleep. Right on cue, his stomach growled loudly. A hungry Winchester was a grouchy Winchester, so finding something for him now and Sam, when he woke him up, was to priority – even over stopping Zachariah. What was that ridiculous saying – an army marches on its stomach? Basically, as any idiot knows, you can’t even plan to go to war hungry.  


On his way to forage for anything, or if he felt brave enough, begging Ellen or Jo for something from the Fellen Fech kitchen, Dean went over Sam’s diatribe about two men being Enaidffrind. Sam wasn’t against it. In a roundabout way, Sam had admitted to believing in all that superstitious mumbo jumbo about the Gods determining who you were meant to spend your life with. Then Sam had declared that Dean was promised by Branwen to Castiel Novak and that Cas was clumsily trying to court Dean. Peachy!  


*************************************************************************************************  


Castiel slipped out of the door of his workshop, unsettled by the obvious bump under his jacket. The one that wouldn’t stop wiggling. They’d agreed that this was the safest method of getting Gabriel out of the workshop. So, why wouldn’t his brother just sit still and let Castiel carry him? Castiel drew the coat tighter around himself. It might make the lump more obvious, but it prevented people from seeing the cat and wanting to ask questions about it, or worse – pet it.

Something was going on. At first, he thought it was a hoax when he saw the guards standing on the street corner. However, by the time he had left the merchant district and begun heading towards his house in the Marsian district, Castiel had seen a pair of guards stationed on almost every road junction. Call him paranoid, but he became even more conscious of the Gabriel cat hiding under his coat. It may well have been a coincidence, but he doubted it. From what Dean had deduced and from the gossip Balthazar had gleaned from trips to the Coch Chythraul and the Fellen Fech, it was obvious Zachariah had taken the hunt for Gabriel up a notch or two. Although no-one other than the Winchesters had come calling and asking awkward questions about his past, Castiel couldn’t shake the feeling that he was under surveillance. 

The evening air was surprisingly warm for the time of year, even though the sun was setting, and the twilight gloom was settling over the rooftops. It was too warm to have his jacket wrapped around him like he was fending off the north wind. Holding a wriggling cat under the jacket was making him overheat.

“Can’t you vanish yourself again?” he muttered under his breath, his lips barely moving in case anyone was watching him.

“Well, I could, but why would I want to when it's so much easier for you to carry me?”

“Because I’m too hot. Could you at least hold still?” he asked hefting Gabriel up higher after the last bout of squirming had caused the cat to slip lower in his hold.

“Stop jostling me around, and I promise I’ll try not to move.”

“Castiel!”

Castiel’s head whipped around to see who was calling out to him. As he did, he realised that in his anxiety, he hadn’t taken the route home. Instead, he had wandered in completely the opposite direction heading for the temples. 

“Er…Sam…Hi. What a surprise seeing you here.” Oh Aeron, this was just what he needed. A nosy Winchester who apparently had excellent skills when it came to identifying energy. 

“On my way to work.”

Castiel tilted his head to the right. Work? Wasn’t Sam a hunter like Dean?

Sam grinned at him and closed the distance between them. “I’m not just a hunter. I’m a seer.” Sam, who was in shirtsleeves, didn’t say anything else. He simply stood there in front of Castiel eyebrows raised at the weird shape in the jacket.

“Oh, I see.” It was all Castiel could manage while his brain recalibrated. It made sense that Sam was a seer, it explained the sensitivity to energy. Worryingly the revelation also made it likely that Sam had used his powers to divine the connection between Castiel and Gabriel. Castiel wasn’t going to offer himself up on a platter.

“Why don’t you come with me. We could have a little chat about the future. Maybe have a look see at what the Gods have in store for you – on the house.”

The tone of Sam’s voice made it clear he expected Castiel to comply. It wasn’t a threat, yet. However, there was the implication

“I don’t think now is the best time…” Castiel objected desperate to get Gabriel away from the hunter. Nothing that Balthazar had turned up suggested that the Winchesters were untrustworthy, but until he was sure of where they stood, or he was further along in his pursuit of Dean Castiel didn’t want to tempt Aerten.

Sam slipped his arm around Castiel’s shoulder guiding Castiel along with him as he returned to his route to Cerridwen’s temple. 

Although he was no slouch in the strength department, Castiel speculated that Sam would best him in any struggle. The pair were also out in the open with at least one pair of guards close enough to see any struggle between them. It was easier to go along with Sam for now than draw too much unwanted attention.

“Now is absolutely the right time to find out who Branwen has in store for you,” Sam said casual as you like.

“I don’t believe in those old ways,” Castiel huffed, squeezing Gabriel tight as he felt his brother bristle in disapproval at the lie.

“The CalonRhodd in your shop window says otherwise,” a smug Sam countered. “Unless of course, you made that solely to advertise your metalworking abilities. But the way that you have that display…well, I think you might have it sitting there waiting for your Enaidffrind to come along and claim it.”

He knew! Sam Winchester knew that Dean was the object of Castiel’s affection. He was so screwed, Don help him!

“Of course, he knows, silly! He can be an ally. You know help get the message into Dean’s thick skull without all this anonymous courting gift malarkey.”

Castiel clenched his jaw. “You can hear my thoughts?”

“No, but I know my baby brother. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’d freak out over young Winchester knowing the secret before big brother.”

Castiel sighed – audibly.

“Everything ok?” Sam let go of Castiel’s shoulder as they entered the temple’s portico. 

Never one for the Great Goddess of the Seers, Castiel had never been inside Cerridwen’s temple. It was more classically decorated than the others, cool white marble-clad columns, granite flagstone floor and high ceilings painted to represent the biggest constellations visible in the Neffroen sky. An archway led off each side wall as well as the back. Every archway had a symbol embossed in gold above it that Castiel couldn’t understand.

Sam gestured to the archway off to the right. 

Castiel was still to be convinced that Sam was going to be willing to help with the Dean situation, so it was with reluctance that he walked through the archway into another corridor lit by reed torches. The flickering lights against the whitewashed stone walls created an air of mystery to the place. They smelled of tallow. The pungent animal scent was enough to make him gag. The smell was the reason Castiel never used tallow candles at home or in the shop, preferring where possible to use oil lamps.

“In here.” Sam opened a door painted in the same whitewash as the walls – even the hinges and handle were painted white. “We can have a private conversation and then call on the Gods without anyone bothering us. Now the guards are policing the city I can spend more time here, so I’ve been given my own space. Please make yourself comfortable. You’ll find that these rooms get quite warm, so uh…”

Sam waved at the jacket Castiel was still clutching to himself.

“How private?” Because if he had taken the jacket off, he would have to reveal what had been hiding under it.

“Private enough that only I will ever know what you’ve got under there.”

Castiel wished that he and his brother had fully telepathic communication. He let go of the jacket and began to shrug it off his shoulders.

Gabriel jumped down instantly, slinking over to where Sam stood and began rubbing his cheek against Sam’s leg.

“This stray tomcat kept showing up at the backdoor of the shop a few days ago. Fed him some milk once, now the darned thing insists on staying. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that it’s adopted me and was taking it home.” Castiel offers by way of explanation at the startled look on Sam’s face.

“Interesting timing that,” Sam hummed drawing up another chair from the back corner of the room. “Given it a name yet?”

Castiel tried not to squirm in his seat. “No, not yet.”

“How about…” Castiel had the distinct impression Sam was toying with him. “How about…Gabriel?”

Gabriel plonked himself down across Sam’s feet and curled into a contented ball of fluff. Much to Castiel’s embarrassment, his brother even began purring.

“Guess he likes the name?” Sam chuckled reaching down to scratch the cat between his ears. “Maybe don’t let him near Dean though. He’s allergic.”

“Why would your brother and my newly acquired pet ever come into contact?” Castiel asked innocently.

Sam stopped petting the cat. He locked eyes with Castiel as he sat back up resting his palms in his lap.

“Why don’t we cut to the chase. If I tell you what I know, you must do me the courtesy of doing the same. Then, I suggest that we do actually consult with the Gods about what possibilities the future holds.”

Castiel bit at his lip. He hated that his hand was being forced. Gabriel had been so certain that Sam was on the side of good. How could he know that? They’d only met once before, and Gabriel had been hidden behind a pile of logs the whole time. What was the harm? If he knew as much as he intimated, why hadn’t Sam turned Castiel over to the guards in the street? Why was he so insistent that they talk? Why did he as good as tell Castiel he knew Dean was his Enaidffrind? 

“Very well, Sam. Proceed.”

Sam told Castiel about sensing the energies of the courting gifts, the meeting with Zachariah, and Benny’s view of what the Priffathro was up to. Sam asserted that after everything that was going on, there was no way that the ginger tom curled up on his feet, was anybody other than the wizard Zachariah Adler was so intent on finding – Gabriel Milton, aka Gabriel Novak.

Before Castiel could say a word, Gabriel performed a languid cat stretch then moved away from his Sam and his brother before returning to his human form.

“Hello, Samshine! Pleasure to meet you. Gabriel Novak as you rightly deduced. While my baby brother has a fit about everything being out of his control, why don’t I fill you in on all the gory details?”

Sam shrugged wrinkling his nose and knitting his brow, then shook Gabriel’s outstretched hand.

“The situation is as bleak as you painted it. Our highly unbeloved stepfather is on a mission to seize full control of the Cyngor, get rid of the head of every other Planta and institute martial law across the whole planet. There are a couple of others in the Cyngor who suspect what he’s up to, but they aren’t willing to take action to depose another member of the council. Some stupid nonsense about being hypocritical if they were to do so, especially if they have no proof of what he’s up to. I would have thought stepdaddy dearest’s latest decree here in Tân would have given them the shove they need to talk to the other council members. But hey, what do I know? I’m only a humble wizard.”

Castiel was still trying to calm down. How was everything that was going on so transparent to the young hunter/seer? It was disquieting. Oh, and he was mad as Uffern with his brother over making him deal with cat Gabriel, even carrying him here, only to ‘poof’ and transmogrify back at Sam’s allegations.

“Now as for the other matter. There is a little something that was missing from your assumptions about our brothers. Something Cassie here wouldn’t tell you. Dean hasn’t yet achieved his full potential. At a stab, he’s prickly about what he perceives as his shortcomings and overcompensates to the point that no one buys what he’s selling? Am I right or am I right? By the way, got anything sweet around here I can munch on?”

“Not unless I get something from the priests’ store by the main shrine. What is this about Dean’s ‘full potential’?”

Castiel could almost see the disdain in Sam when he said the words ‘full potential’.

Gabriel pouted at Sam’s refusal to find something to satisfy his sweet tooth, but he went on with his explanation anyway.

“From what I gleaned from the Gods back in Coeden, the two of them need each other. It’s kind of like they have this more profound bond than most Enaidffrind. Their destinies are mixed up in each other – Castiel cannot be the wise ruler he supposed to be without Dean, and without Castiel at his side, Dean will never realise the great wisdom he has for leading and counselling others in the right course of action.”

Sam did a double take. “You’re telling me that…that…there is a reason Dean is so low in Hudau, and why dad drilled him so much into using his brain to hunt?”

“Got it in one! Smart kid ain’t he, Cassie?”

“Indeed,” Castiel intoned. “Maybe it would be unwise to seek the Gods without Dean present. I am yet to be convinced by my brother’s fanciful stories about Dean and my relationship going beyond the norm. However, I must give it credence, if only because two men from any Planta other than Denillen being chosen by Branwen to be together is highly irregular. If we do seek the wisdom of the Gods on this, are you and Dean with us in our challenge, Sam?”

Sam didn’t hesitate. 

“We have several members of the Planta already with us. I’m sure that there are others just as disgruntled about what’s going on. Honestly, I think winning a challenge against Adler is the easiest thing we,” Sam gestured at the three of them, “have to do. Convincing Dean that he and Castiel are destined to be and that there’s nothing wrong with that, in fact, it will be the making of him – that’s a thornier problem.”  


**************************************************************************************************  


He wasn’t behaving like a lovesick teenager. Absolutely no way in Uffern was that how Dean Winchester was behaving. He was merely showing an appreciation for Cas’s brilliant craftsmanship. Ok, so he might have rejected several offers for a few drinks at the Fellen Fech to stay home by himself running his fingers over the ceremonial knife, studying the intricate carvings on the spoon set, and admiring the way the light caught the salver and created so many different shades in the jade - again. But there was more to life than drinking, wasn’t there?  


Sam had said that there was some symbolism attached to the etchings on the spoons. That meant Cas had put thought into what he would bring to a relationship with Dean. What would Dean bring in return? Not much! A cheeky grin, emotional walls about ten feet thick, and…and what? His hunting skills. Not that they’d count for much when your partner was a soldier by birth. Cas would be able to out-fight him even without ever having trained in combat. He was also probably stronger than Dean, although Dean was the taller of the two.  


One thing Dean did know about love spoons – you were supposed to put them somewhere prominent so that anyone entering the home would know that a member of the household was being courted. That was something he could do.  


The small cottage didn’t have much by way of space to display things. The mantle shelf, the table and dresser were the only likely candidates, not that there was any room on the dresser where his mother’s stoneware and serving dishes sat as they had done since the day she died. It wasn’t respectful of her memory to shuffle them around, which removed the dresser as an option. The table was too workaday an option – put the salver or the spoons on there and they were likely to get used the same as the everyday objects – especially when he or Sammy were tired or drunk. Would they sit well over the fireplace? He’d need to do more than plonk them down, they had to be displayed like Cas had taken the time to arrange a tasteful display for the torc in his shop window. Dean ought to treat the courting gifts with the same respect  


Dean was so engrossed in finding the perfect place for the spoons and the salver, that he didn’t hear the door rattle.  


“So Dean, get this,” Sam started then stopped mid-sentence.  


Dean spun around, his hands still stroking the smallest of the spoons, to see not just Sam, but Cas, and another man standing in the doorway. Dean instantly gets the appeal of the gift of wizardry. Not something he’s ever thought about before. The ability to make yourself invisible at the drop of a hat, or in the case the opening of a door, sounded appealing. He’d like to say that he was cool, calm and collected when unexpectedly faced with his Enaidffrind. But he wasn’t. He was thrown into a completely unmanly flap. Although, until his dying day he will deny that his first impulse on seeing Cas standing behind Sam was to run up to him, throw his arms around him, and bury his face in Cas’s neck.  


Then it hit him like a runaway carriage. Sam, Cas, and the other dude coming in together like that couldn’t be good. In the space of a few seconds, Dean went from gushing over Cas to feeling all the warmth drain away from his body. Cas was here to tell him why they could never be; that it was not divine will that they be together.  


Why was Sam with him? Sam was supposed to be picking up an extra shift at the temple.  


The short dirty blond guy standing beside Cas brushed past Sam and strode over with his hand outstretched.  


“Good to finally meet you, Dean-o!”  


“And you are?”  


“The one you’ve been looking for! Taken a mighty big risk coming here like this. I had to get Cassie and Sammy boy here to use their energies to dampen mine. Couldn’t use my preferred form. Apparently, it’d upset you.”  


“Gabriel…Gabriel Novak?”  


“In the flesh! Sam, you said something about having some cake or pie around here?”  


Dean narrowed his eyes, knowing full well that there was only pie. Half a cherry pie that Dean had earmarked for after he’d finished the evening chores. No-one got to eat Dean’s pie without his say-so. Sammy should have known better than to offer Dean’s pie without consulting him.  


However, instead of saying ‘no’ like he should have done, his younger brother wandered into the pantry rooting around for the leftover pie and a plate.  


Ruefully, Dean thought he should have hidden the damned pie. Just like he should have hidden the courting gifts from Cas, pretend like he had never received them, concoct some lame story about how someone must have stolen them from the doorstep. Because now they were going to be going back with Cas anyway…maybe that was how they’d met! Cas had gone to the seers for a reading and one of the others had told him the truth, that there was some woman far more suitable for a Novak that the gods had in mind. A match that would be socially acceptable, no matter what Sam said about two men together not being against the Gods’ commands.  


“It’s ok, Dean,” Sam reassured him. “Nothing to worry about…actually scratch that…nothing you don’t already know to worry about.”  
Sam handed over the pie to Gabriel, studiously ignoring his brother’s baleful look.  


“Uh-huh.” Dean dragged himself away from the mantelshelf.  


“Unless,” Gabriel remarked through a mouthful of Dean’s pie, “you think being paired up with my baby bro here is something to be concerned about. Personally, I’d be heading for the hills, but…it seems Branwen and Aerten have other ideas. Saddle up, kiddo! It’s going to be one hell of a ride.” Gabriel winked at Dean.  


“Does he ever shut up?”  


“Every once in a while,” Cas deadpanned.  


Gabriel stuck his tongue out at Cas. A disgusting sight as he’d just shovelled another bite of pie into his mouth.  


Sam clapped his hands, making the others flinch. “Castiel, Gabriel, please sit. Dean stop doing the petulant toddler face over lost pie, you know we can always get more from Ellen tomorrow. Grab a seat.”  


Dean pretended to hunt around the room for a chair, knowing full well that the Novaks were using the only two unbroken ones in the house. Then, making as big a show as possible of it, but secretly glad to be as far away as possible from everyone else in the room, he huffed as he slid to the floor. He sat with his legs stretched out and his back resting against the dresser.  


Sam remained standing by the fireplace.  


The way I see it, everything that we’d managed to work out about Adler and about who’s been sending the courting gifts is right.”  


Dean dared to sneak a glance at Cas. He was sitting straight-backed, hands clenched by his sides, feet close together on the floor, not the slightest bit relaxed. Castiel’s posture didn’t do anything to ease Dean’s qualms. He had dared to hope that Cas would be putting out good signals. Perhaps, he would have raked his eyes over Dean’s body in the same way Dean wanted to with Cas’s. By Cernowain, Dean didn’t only want to look, he wanted to touch, to taste. How could the Gods have sent such mixed signals to both him and Cas? On the face of it, Cas had confirmed to Sam that he had been sending the gifts to Dean, yet he was giving no indication that he…well, being blunt…that he’d ever touch Dean or want him like Dean had to admit he wanted Cas. So why even bother making that masculine-looking CalonRhodd? Why send gifts? More importantly, why make promises that he had no intention of keeping? A rash act of obedience to the Gods, now regretted?  


“Dean!”  


Uh-oh, Sam was glaring at him with bitch face No.3.  


“What your brother is failing to ask, Dean, is are you up for a little consultation with the Gods? A cosy fireside chat about the future of Neffroen…with a side of possible hot sex between you and Cassie.”  


Sam gagged. “Gabriel! Not an image I needed.”  


“Indeed not!” Cas sounded offended. He stood up and walked over to Dean. Crouching down in front of him and locking gaze he said, “What our brothers are clumsily trying to ask is whether you would be willing to let Sam use his powers to view our future.”  


Dean blinked several times. Our future? Hope fluttered in his stomach. He nodded his agreement, no longer trusting his voice to work.  


**************************************************************************************************  


It was the right thing to do. No question about it. Castiel knew that consulting with the Gods would settle Dean. Him too! He still had some concerns of his own about making the challenge with Dean at his side. How would warriors and hunters take to being led by a Priffathro and his male consort?  


“No!”  


Resistance he had been expecting after what Sam had told them about Dean. Outright refusal – not really.  


“But, Dean…”  


Dean held up the index finger of his right hand in warning.  


“I said no, bitch! I’m not letting you do it. This…this wizard,” Dean inclined his head towards Gabriel, the indignation not yet extinguished that he’d had to give up his beloved pie for Gabriel. “This wizard got all the hunters side-lined, the whole Breniol Guard playing detective looking for him. Yet, he’s managed to simply waltz through town to get here. Even manipulated you to help him.  


Sam bristled, the steel in the younger Winchester’s eyes unexpectedly menacing. “We agreed that if the Novaks were mounting a challenge we were throwing in with them. I hardly call assisting someone I’d already decided to help being manipulated.”  


Watching the interplay between the brothers was fascinating. Castiel settled himself against the dresser next to Dean. He did, however, make sure to keep a respectful distance between them. He had no desire to make Dean any more uncomfortable than he already clearly was. Was the interaction normal for siblings? It had been so long for him that he couldn’t remember what the relationship between him and his brothers had been like – not in detail. With Gabriel over the past few days, it had been more about getting reacquainted.  


“Ok, you have a point. But you’re too invested. I don’t trust that you’ll not give the version of events you want to play out, not the one the Goddesses want you to see. No, don’t give me puppy dog eyes. You know that’s exactly how Dad would have handled this mess.”  


So not the thing to say. Sam doesn’t look placated in the slightest. Castiel has to add his cridde’s worth to the conversation to try and diffuse things. “I very much doubt that is what Sam would do, especially not to his own brother. Do you have a suggestion?”  


“Get Pamela to do it. Missouri at a pinch. One of them sees the same thing, I’m in. Otherwise, I’m not playing.”  


Dean was too cute when he pouted. Castiel drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them clasping tightly to his elbows. If he didn’t keep hold of them? There was no doubt that they find their way to Dean’s face and begin tracing the lines of that perfect cupid’s bow.  


Sam’s shoulders drooped. He gnawed at the side of his thumb; all the assurance knocked out of him by his brother’s demands. Sam had to know that this wasn’t that Dean didn’t trust him, didn’t he? Dean’s reactions were a defence mechanism. Well, that’s what Castiel’s instincts were telling him and for all his awkwardness he was a good reader of people.  


“I think it would be an acceptable compromise. Sam, I assume you know when this Pamela is likely to be working? A trip to the temple, neutral ground, might be better all-round, don’t you think?”  


“What about me, Cassie? I can’t exactly parade around on the streets, you know.”  


Sam perked up, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “If we want to do this properly, we’d need to take an offering. I’m sure the temple priests would welcome another mouser.”  


Castiel immediately caught onto what Sam was hinting at and tried to stifle a chuckle.  


Gabriel, who has always had a witty comeback, was sitting at the table his jaw hanging open, eyes bulging out of his head.  


Dean, still beside Castiel, scratched his head with a bemused look on his face. He had yet to meet Gabriel the cat.  


“I think that should work well enough, so long as someone promises to behave and sit still.”  


Poor Dean, he was looking even more lost. Until things settled down, it was kinder to leave him in the dark about Gabriel’s transmogrification. It did mean, however, that Castiel would need to get Gabriel into the temple and into a quiet place to change form before Dean arrived. That, however, was tomorrow, or the next day’s, problem.  


“Shall we meet at the temple noon tomorrow? If I remember correctly either Missouri or Pamela should be on the afternoon shift.”  


Castiel hefted himself off the floor. On his way to the door, he snatched the last mouthful of pie from Gabriel’s plate.  


“Come on, Gabriel. Let’s go home. We’ll see these two tomorrow.” Then without waiting for Gabriel’s reply, Castiel popped the pie into his mouth and left the Winchester cottage.  


After several minutes, Castiel looked behind him. He wasn’t surprised to find he was being followed by an angry looking ginger cat.  


**************************************************************************************************  


Sam was pacing the room, hands gesticulating wildly. His shirt was covered in herbed oil from the scrying bowl, and his hair usually so well-kempt for a hunter, looked like a rat’s nest.  


“You were the one that insisted. Get Pamela to look into the waters and tell us the Goddess’ plans. That’s what you said. She’s independent, you said. Pamela doesn’t know about the gifts or why Adler has the city on high alert looking for Gabriel. She’ll simply deliver the message as she gets it straight from the divine source. Come on, Dean. Say something, will you? If that’s too much, could you at least look at one of us? Me or Cas. Let us know that you in there. You can’t stay like this.”  


“Actually Sam, I think you’ll find he can. I believe the healers call it catatonic shock.”  


“Not helping,” Sam spat rounding on Castiel who was slumped in a chair pulling at his hair, his clothing in as much disarray as Sam’s.  


“I understand your frustration…”  


“Do you? Do you, Cas? Because last I looked, your brother was alive and well, having the time of his life spraying every possible surface in the Inner Sanctum because, and I quote ‘the High Priest is a sanctimonious asshole who wouldn’t know how to please the Great Goddess of the Cauldron even if she were to show up in the flesh carrying a parchment with her requests written on it.’ Meanwhile, my brother held one of the two most respected seers in Tân by her throat and accused her of making up visions, and then when I pried him off her, he fell into this comatose state.”  


“Taking your frustration out on me won’t help Dean. Besides, I think Gabriel is right about the High Priest. You spend more time here than us; you tell me he’s wrong.”  
Sam grunted his acknowledgement that Gabriel might be correct, then he tried to shake his brother out of his trance. But Dean stayed impassive, his green eyes open but unfocused. Sam went back to pacing. Now he wasn’t ranting, he paused every couple of steps to pick flecks of herb off the shirt. It was losing battle while he still had to wear it.  


Castiel and Sam snapped their heads to the door when there were three loud raps.  


“Hey sugar, I bought you guys some sweet wine.” Missouri stooped to place the jug on the floor far enough away from the door so that it would be likely to get knocked over by anyone entering the room. “Anything else I can do to help? Garth has taken Pamela to the healer’s. She convinced Myrddin that there’s no need for the guard, an unfortunate reaction to some unexpected news was all. It happens, Sam. Don’t feel bad, just concentrate on getting your brother back with us.”  


Castiel gave her a weak smile. “I wonder if you could retrieve my cat from whatever ridiculous place he has hidden. He was last seen in the Inner Sanctum.” He caught the creased brow as Missouri tried to read him, ascertain if he was telling the truth. “He’s more of a family familiar,” he adds by way of explanation for why some idiot brought a cat to the temple.  


“Uh-huh that’s your familiar that’s been running amok and upsetting all our priests and visitors? Hmm, just wait till I find that good for nothing mangy animal…”  


“Uh, Missouri,” Sam interrupted, “Any ideas on how to get Dean to come around. You know he’d take a swing at me if we got a healer in here.”  


“Patience, honey, patience. A good swig of that sweet wine might help things along too. But you boys be sure and settle yourselves with it first before you give it to Dean – otherwise, once he gets started there won’t be any left.”  


“Thank you. Please tell Pamela Dean’s sorry. I know he’ll be mortified when he comes around.”  


“I know and if he ain’t, he will be after I’m done with him,” the old seer replied with a soft laugh before she shut the door on the three of them again.  


“Maybe you could try, Cas. See if he responds to you. I mean after what Pamela confirmed, you and he are more than Enaidffrind you’re Geffelfflam. I’m just the annoying little brother.”  


Oh, he wanted to be the one. Cliché as it might be, what if he could rouse his Dean with a chaste kiss to the lips? A braver man might take the chance. Castiel had no desire to join the list of people Dean Winchester had lashed out at in vexation.  


“I’m not sure that would be wise. After all, it is that news which has us in this rather delicate situation. It would be for the best if you tried again. Here have a couple of gulps of this then have another go.” Castiel held out the jug of sweet wine to Sam.  


Sam grabbed the jug, loudly gulping down the liquid, then wiping the excess from his mouth with his sleeve. He handed the jug back to Castiel.  


Castiel jumped when the door swung open, crashing against the wall behind it. Luckily, the wine didn’t spill.  


“I was told, in no uncertain terms, that my presence was demanded in here. So here I am. Is that water?”  


“No Gabriel it’s wine…hey, when did you change again?”  


Castiel took a long draught of the wine – maybe it would help his headache. He’d never heard of wizards changing back and forth so often as his brother did. Only familiars were supposed to be able to make the transitions quick and often. That was one thing, despite his cheeky comment to Missouri, he was certain his brother was not. As he understood it, the transmogrification spell took a toll on a wizard’s or witch’s body, whereas the familiar was built to shift at will. Dean was the priority for the time being, but Castiel was going to discuss the cat thing with Gabriel. He’d only just got his brother back. He didn’t want anything to happen to him.  


“When I got bored of my rampage. Only so much pee in the body you know. Give that here, Cassie.” Gabriel drew a small pouch from his pocket. “I wondered if this might end up being a bit of a shambles with Dean-o being so twitchy. “Because I’m a genius, I bought along a tonic. It’s a speciality of a healer friend of mine.” Gabriel poured the contents of the pouch into the jug and swirled the contents around to mix the tonic into the wine. “Samshine, you making your brother drink this? I can’t see it going down well if old blue eyes here is the first thing Dean-o sees when he comes back to Neffroen.”  


Castiel had been stabbed. The jolt of pain in his chest told him so. It only lasted a few moments, but it was enough to have him grimacing, squeezing his eyes shut and clutching at the centre of his chest. When the pain dulled, and he opened his eyes he knew he was being melodramatic. Nothing had changed. The only other people in the room were Sam, Dean and Gabriel. If that was what imagining Dean refusing to accept the Goddesses words and rejecting him felt like, Castiel’s heart sank to his boots at what the idea of what the reality of that situation would feel like.  


Castiel didn’t think Sam had noticed. Sam’s was crouched in front of Dean, struggling to get him to drink from the jug. Dean stubbornly turned his head away from it. Each time Sam pressed the jug to Dean’s lips, Dean would move again. But it was only Dean’s head that was moving. His body remained as lifeless as before.  


Gabriel did notice though. “Oh, brother! You’ve got it bad already, don’t you?” Gabriel patted his shoulder sympathetically a couple of times, leaving the hand there for support as they continue watching Sam’ frustrations with Dean.  


Dean needed to drink whatever it was Gabriel put in the wine. Sam couldn’t manage on his own. Better Dean see him and Sam than have Gabriel in the mix. Those two were going to be like oil and water, Castiel could tell.  


“Here Sam, let me help you. Maybe if one of us holds his head still, the other can pour the wine.”  


Castiel didn’t give Sam the chance to answer. He was there by Dean’s side gently cupping Dean’s chin in his hand, murmuring encouragement to Dean, urging him to drink even a tiny sip of the good stuff Sam was offering him.  


Dean side-eyed him. Those expressive eyes were full of confusion and mistrust.  


“Oh, for the love of Don. Watching you three flounder around is enough to make anyone uptight! Did it occur to either of you to use some Hudau? Get out of the way. If you want something doing properly…”  


“Gabriel, don’t you dare!”  


“No, Gabriel!”  


“Oops, too late!” Gabriel’s face turned the picture of concentration. He began quietly chanting an incantation, his hands outstretched palms upturned to the sky.  
Castiel realised that he’d expected a more dramatic impact. This was Gabriel. His brother had always been a joker who never did anything by halves. All that actually happened was that Dean relaxed in his grip, his mouth slipped open and his head tilted towards Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel held Dean’s head up straight while Sam took the opportunity to tip the jug against his throat. Sam didn’t stop until Dean had swallowed all the wine. Afterwards, Dean’s head lolled against Castiel’s shoulder – exactly where it should be. Castiel took the chance and slipped an arm around Dean’s waist pulling Dean closer to him.  


*************************************************************************************************  


Dean groaned. The events of the previous afternoon were hazy. He didn’t remember drinking anything or eating anything come to think of it. Sam had been acting weird. He’d been the one to go out hunting with Jo and Bobby insisting that Dean go back to bed and stay there. He didn’t need looking after by anyone, especially not moose-sized, bitchfaced younger brothers.  


Dean wasn’t sulking. He was far too mature for that. He preferred the term broodingly mulling things over to describe his present mood. Annoyingly, Sam had been right about one thing. Dean needed to stay in bed. Moving hurt. His muscles ached, his insides felt like molten lava and his brain was trying to force its way out of his skull. Dean Winchester never got sick. So, he couldn’t be ill, but this was not a hangover. Food poisoning? Had he eaten something bad at the temple? Pamela had given them all this weird tasting wafer before she’d taken her dose of Draig’s Brew. Had it disagreed with him? It was after he’d eaten the wafer that his memories started to become muddled until he’d woken up feeling like shit with Sam hovering over him looking as though Sam had been there watching him all night.  


Dean hauled himself off the bed, dragging the blanket with him which he wrapped around his shoulders because it was seriously cold in the cottage. That was why he was shivering – the unseasonable chill in the air, not because he was sick.  


Oh, Uffern no! Dean gawped at the living room. At some point between agreeing to go to the temple with Sam, Cas, and Gabriel and now, someone had fixed the love spoons, in sequence, to the wall above the fireplace. Underneath each one was a piece of paper with something scrawled on it. The promises of each spoon? The salver had been placed in pride of place on the dresser, the usual clutter he and Sam threw there because they didn’t know where else to put it had been cleared away. The whole living area, not particularly messy to start with, had been tidied to make the courting gifts stand out. Dean didn’t want to look at what was lying in the centre of the table. No. Not looking. Not looking because the sick joke that was being played on him had been ratcheted up several notches. Who would do this to him? Not Sam. Cas didn’t seem the type to toy with people. Gabriel! That little shit! It had to be the tricky short-ass wizard. He was going to kill Gabriel when he next saw him.  


Unconsciously Dean approached the table. Before he could stop himself, his fingers were touching what he hadn’t wanted to look at. The torc, the CalonRhodd that Cas had designed and made for his Enaidffrind, was sitting taunting him. It was his. Nobody else was going to get their grubby hands on it. He was claiming it, just as he would claim Cas when he next saw him. Feeling every inch like the llovesick heroine in one of those Penny Romances Charlie loved so much, Dean snatched up the torc, cradling it to his chest. How would it look around his neck? Would the green jewels compliment his eyes, or would it be too much green in one place? It wouldn’t hurt to try it on, would it?  


Stumbling back into his bedroom, torc in hand, Dean stood in front of his shaving mirror. His hands most definitely did not tremble as he placed the torc around his neck. His breath caught in his throat because although his brain refused to accept the fact, the torc belonged there like it had been made specifically for him. It had.  


One day, one stupendous day, Dean would be able to wear the torc in public. In time, he would have the courage to be proud to wear evidence of Cas’s affection openly. That day was too far off for his liking, for while Dean couldn’t now imagine anything other than belonging with Cas, he faltered every time he thought about how other people would react to knowing Dean Winchester liked men. To be fair, that wasn’t necessarily true. Dean had no clue whether he liked men, or whether it was just Cas. He made up his mind that it didn’t matter either way, as he absentmindedly caressed the torc daydreaming about the day that he and Cas would stand in the brilliant sunshine in the square behind Leun’s temple and make their vows to one another.  


Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch.  


“Meeoooww, Meeooww, Meeooww!”  


Dean ignored the racket hoping it would go away. He was allergic to cats. No way was he allowing a mangy feline into the cottage. No telling what it might bring in with it. Ten minutes later, Dean opened the door with a pail of water. Surprisingly, the cat didn’t disappear. It shook itself more as a wet dog would do, raised the hackles on the back of its neck and hissed at him. Oh, well even if it hadn’t run away yet, he’d made it shut up which was a plus in his current state.  


Dean missed the streak of ginger fur that tore past him and into the cottage. He slammed the door shut, satisfied that he’d seen the last of the cat and could now go back to admiring himself in the torc and feeling sorry for himself because he still felt like shit and none of his memories of the day before had returned.  


He returned the pail to the kitchen, then went to start the fire going. He stopped dead in his tracks when he heard the crackling of a fire in the hearth that he hadn’t lit. For a moment he thought that he was seeing and hearing things. Maybe he truly was ill and hallucinating because the fire was burning and an unwelcome, but recognisable figure was sitting on a chair in front of it, one ankle crossed over the other knee.  


“Gabriel?”  


“Dean-o! Good to see you up and about. You weren’t looking so hot when Cassie and I left last night.”  


Dean picked up the other chair and placed it down in front of Gabriel, the back of the chair towards him. Dean sat in the chair, resting his arms on the back, scowling at the wizard.  


“Before I find a knife and gut you, care to share with me how in Uffern you got into my home? Then, if I leave you in one piece, you can tell me what you know about yesterday afternoon that has me feeling totally turned around and like I’ve got the mother of all hangovers without drinking a drop of alcohol.”  


Gabriel smirked at him. “Meeoowww! A magician, or in my case a wizard, never reveals his secret tricks. You’re a smart boy, maybe not as bright as that gigantic brother of yours, but you got brains enough to figure it out. Yesterday, now how to tell you about that little doozy?” Gabriel taps the side of his face with his finger. His lips purse and his nose twitches. “Got any whiskey? Hair of the dog for me. Might be more strictly medicinal for you.”  


Gabriel hadn’t commented on the fact that he was wearing the torc. He must have known that Cas made it. Dean couldn’t say for sure that Gabriel had ever been at Cas’s shop, he’d never asked Gabriel or Cas if Sam had been right about the energy in the workshop that day – if it had been Gabriel. Dean couldn’t imagine if it were him and Sam that he’d have stayed away from Sam’s place of work after they’d been separated that long. He’d have wanted to spend hours catching up with Sam until Sam started with too much of the emotional bullshit.  


Dean ploughed his way through four shots of whiskey to Gabriel’s one while he listened to the tale of the previous day’s events at the temple. When Gabriel finally left, still without commenting about the highly noticeable jewellery around Dean’s neck, there was only one word to describe how Dean felt – mortified.

**************************************************************************************************  


Three days. Three whole days. He hadn’t seen Dean in three days. It’s not like he had been lounging at home pining for Dean. Castiel had hardly had a moment to stop and think. Running the shop. Getting to know his brother all over again. He had been working on new items for the shop. He’d also designed yet another gift for Dean – a peace offering after what had happened at the temple. Castiel had so wanted to hand the torc to Dean himself, not leave it lying around like an unwanted handout in the middle of the table. The torc was what had alerted him to who Dean was, the way that the first time Dean had been in his shop neither of them could keep their eyes away from the torc for long, before shyly trying to avoid staring at the other. However ,that option had been taken away from him.  


Balthazar was helping Gabriel get outside the city walls. Castiel dreaded to think what favour Balthazar had done for the songbird, Rhiannon, to have Gabriel travel with her and her two attendants in her carriage as far as a small farmhouse two hours outside the city. Gabriel claimed that the witch who lived there was a dear friend of his. Castiel hadn’t missed the waggle of Gabriel’s eyebrows when he talked about Kali. Balthazar would follow at a discreet distance on horseback, claiming he wanted some fresh country air. Until Balthazar returned with news that Gabriel had made it safely to his destination, Castiel would be on tenterhooks. He’d hardly gotten to know his older brother again when they had to be separated. Gabriel’s safety came first as Castiel had reminded him when Gabriel admitted the toll that it had taken on him physically and mentally to keep changing to and from his cat form. That was without mentioning the additional energy Gabriel had been using to dampen any sense of his presence from others.  


Castiel hadn’t slept properly the night before. He had gotten maybe three hours of fitful sleep worrying about both Dean and Gabriel. Added to the stress of waiting on Balthazar’s return and Castiel was beginning to see the wisdom in Dean’s need for pie at any time of the day. Having lost so much time to hiding Gabriel and courting Dean, he had neglected the shop – his source of income. What he ought to have done was open the shop and do the thing shopkeepers were supposed to do – exchange goods for money. What he did instead? He trudged to the Fellen Fech. That mouthful of pie he’d stolen from Gabriel had been delicious. Now that he knew how close the Winchesters were with the Harvelles, he assumed that the pie had come from the Fellen Fech. Apparently pie and coffee was the breakfast of champions. The combination set you upright for the rest of the day. Huh, he shrugged at his own lethargy, when he won the challenge against Zachariah he wouldn’t need to worry about the shop – he’d have access to the Novak family wealth. He’d probably keep the shop all the same, perhaps rent it out to some other less gifted smith. It was good business sense – he could hear Balthazar’s voice in his ear as he thought it.  


“You Casteeel?” a gruff voice asked him as he approached the bar.  


“Cast-i.el. Yes, I am. How do…”  


The older man laughed, his hand slapping down loudly on the bar. “How do I know who you are, boy? Because I make it my business to know weirdos who start dropping off or getting their lackeys to drop off, packages outside my boys’ house.”  


Castiel was at a distinct advantage. This man could not be John Winchester. Castiel was positive that Sam and Dean’s father had died several years ago – no not positive, he knew! Dean had told him as much. Unless of course, this was as similarly spectacular a case as Gabriel’s reappearance supposedly back from the grave.  


“Your…your…boys?”  


“Yup! Not by blood but been a damned sight better father than their real daddy, so yes Sam and Dean Winchester are my boys…and I’m real protective of them. Name’s Singer, Bobby Singer.”  


“Now Bobby, don’t you go around threatening my customers!” Ellen appeared behind the bar to rescue Castiel. “What is it you were wanting, sir?”  


“Please, call me Castiel. I was hoping you might have some pie. I don’t really need a whole one, just a slice would do, really. I had some the other day at the Winchesters’. It was amazing and I…well I figured since they frequent this place so much and Sam had said it wasn’t homemade that…well, that it came from here.” Castiel didn’t draw a breath until he’d finished.  


“If you can wait fifteen, I’ll have today’s batch finished. Was there a flavour you were hoping for, there’s apple and there’s cherry?”  


Castiel settled himself on the stool next to Bobby. “Cherry sounds perfect, thank you.”  


“Coffee while you wait? Don’t let this grumpy old coot exterior put you off, Bobby will keep you entertained.”  


Castiel grinned his thanks.  


“Hey Ellen, take the coffee and pie to the backroom,” Bobby called at Ellen’s retreating figure. “Me and Castiel will keep ourselves entertained out there – away from flapping ears.”  


Bobby ushered Castiel behind the bar and into a side room, telling him to make himself comfortable. Bobby slumped into the chair nearest the door, kicking his feet up onto the table, leaning back and clasping his hands behind his head. Bobby had ensured that he blocked Castiel’s exit – not threatening behaviour at all. Not that it intimidated Castiel. He had the Goddesses seal of approval for courting Dean – they were Gefellfflam.  


“How about you explain why Dean attacked Pamela, then ended up in a trance at Cerridwen’s temple? Sam already gave his story, but I want to hear it from the other horse’s mouth.”  


Not seeing that he had much choice, Castiel told Bobby what had happened. Bobby was on their side. He had agreed with Sam and Dean that he would side with the Novaks in any challenge to Adler. No harm in telling him the truth, was there?  


“I ain’t one for beating around the bush. I’m guessing Sam or Dean told you I’m on the side of whoever has the balls to stand up to Adler, come Uffern or high water. So, that means I’m on yours, boy. You better do right by Dean and by the Planta – or…”  


Castiel liked the old hunter. Sure, he was rough around the edges, but it was clear that Bobby Singer only had time for two things, one his family whether that was by blood or choice, and two the protection of their way of life on Neffroen. He’d be proud to have Bobby on his side, and lucky too.  


“…or you’ll have my head?” Castiel offered.  


Bobby huffed out an amused breath, “Something like that. Now, it might not be my place to say so but I’m making it mine. You claim that Dean is some great military strategist – that you two chuckleheads will be ruling the Planta side by side and both of you will advise the Cyngor on any hunting or military matters. Last time I saw him, Dean wasn’t buying one word of that – other than the bit about the two of you being together. Then, oh boy, Dean gets the most ridiculous heart eyes when your name gets mentioned. I’d slap some sense into Jo if she ever mooned over someone like that boy does over you. Not that it’s likely, of course. Then again, never thought I’d see Dean fall so hard for anyone – ever.”  


Castiel preened at the thought of Dean being so gone over him. He hadn’t dared to hope that would happen . Not so soon, anyway. If Castiel stopped to think about it, it was strange how quickly Dean had gone from no interest to openly showing how he felt. He wasn’t going to dwell on it. Why ruin the perfectly good mood Bobby’s words created.  


“Don’t you start. It’s bad enough with that idjit!”  


“Uh…sorry…I guess.” He wasn’t in the least bit sorry, but apologising seemed the right thing to do to keep on Bobby’s good side.  


“Hmmm, apology accepted. Like I was saying, Dean ain’t buying any other part of that destiny bollocks. Not saying he won’t get there, but he’s gonna need a less than gentle shove in the right direction.”  


The phrase ‘shove in the right direction’ triggered something. Gabriel had never disclosed what was in the pouch he’d emptied into the wine the other day. He’d been insistent that everybody else had drunk their fill before he mixed the powder and wine together. Also, Gabriel had been even more evasive than normal when he’d come back from seeing Dean on his own. Instantly, Castiel went from feeling puffed up about Dean’s reactions to feeling nauseated. From the look on Bobby’s face, Castiel’s complexion had paled too.  


Stowing his thoughts about what Gabriel had done, Castiel forced his attention back to what Bobby had been saying. “This shove you feel Dean needs, what about it?”  


“None of you boys, not even Benny – that’s one of the others the boys have got on board your faction, have ever been in the heat of battle or a Challenge. Ok, let me rephrase that,” Bobby added hastily looking at Castiel’s arched eyebrow. “None of you has been a fighting participant in anything like this before. You need a voice of experience to guide…”  


“…and I take it that you’re offering? Well, Mr Bobby Singer, your help in guiding Dean on strategy is gratefully accepted. Welcome aboard!”  


The beaming smile on Bobby’s face told Castiel that he’d interpreted him correctly. After agreeing that a meeting of everyone that was involved with Castiel’s challenge was necessary, the two men sat in companionable silence, sipping coffee until Ellen came back with Castiel’s pie.  


“On the house and don’t even think of arguing,” Ellen said as she presented Castiel with a whole cherry pie wrapped and ready to go.  


**************************************************************************************************  


“Dean, for fuck’s sake will you leave those alone!”  


Oh, he’d been ‘dusting’ the love spoons again and not even been aware of it.  


“I swear to Cernowain, if you don’t leave them, the salver, and your ceremonial knife alone – I will destroy them!”  


“Sammy,” Dean whined, “you already used your stupid Hudau to stop me finding the torc – it’s mine, Sammy, mine! Cas made it for me, his Gefellfflam!”  


“Don’t call me Sammy.”  


Dean flopped down on the nearest chair. He was not sulking, and he was not acting strangely, no matter what Sammy – yeah Sammy – no matter what Sammy said. Everyone who was head over heels in love with their divinely appointed partner would be a smidgen obsessed with their courting gifts, wouldn’t they?  


“Snap out of it. We’ve got a bunch of people coming over to discuss how we take down Adler. We need you to focus on that, not daydream about how blue Cas’s eyes or whatever else it is that I don’t want to know you’re thinking about.”  


Sammy was such a buzzkill.  


“Cas is coming, right? Tell me Cas is coming, Sammy!”  


“Not if you can’t behave like an adult around him.”  


Sam stomped off to the pantry leaving Dean in his chair wondering when he’d turned into such an irrepressible sap, Gefellfflam or not. Gefellfflam - what did that even mean? Enaidffrind he had come to conclude existed. Two people destined to be lifelong partners by some divine twist of fate. But Gefellfflam was supposedly a whole other level of connection between two people. He vaguely remembered Gabriel trying to explain the ‘cosmic’ significance of having that deeper bond, but he’d been so ashamed at how he’d responded to Pamela’s visions at the temple, that he’d not given Gabe his full attention.  


Dean sucked in several long deep breaths , while listening to Sam slamming around in the pantry trying to find enough clean mugs and goblets for their visitors to drink from. He could do this. He could spend a couple of hours in the same room as Cas without needing to touch him, to hold him, to get as close as was humanly possible to him without sitting on his lap. That was entirely possible. He’d never felt the need to do that with another human being before, why start now?  


Planning. That’s what they were here to do. Plan how…no, not how, but when to stage the Cas’s Challenge. Here was the weird thing. Not that it had ever been discussed that he could remember, but it had always been Cas who would replace Zachariah, not Gabriel. By rights, it should be Gabriel. He was the elder brother and, according to the succession laws, as the oldest surviving child was the natural successor. So, why did it never sit right thinking about Gabriel as Priffathro?  


“Because Gabriel couldn’t do all that diplomacy thing. He’s not got the gravitas for it.”  


Dean hated when Sam read his mind. Of course, Sam didn’t literally read his mind, although it often felt that way. It had more to do with how close they were and that it was Dean, not John Winchester, who had raised Sam. Sam knew Dean’s way of thinking about things, occasionally better than Dean did.  


“I guess, I would have thought that he’d love all the pomp and ceremony stuff though – get his hands on all the goodies.”  


The conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door.  


“If you want my opinion,” Sam said as he went to welcome their guests, “it’s because he knows that Cas will share them with him anyway.”  


“I wouldn’t share with him!” Dean muttered under his breath as he dragged himself to his feet.  


The inner circle drifted in gradually. Infuriatingly, or maybe luckily, Cas the last to arrive. Dean purposely sat as far away from him as possible. His insides fluttered when Cas quirked an eyebrow and side-eyed the chair beside him. Dean stayed put. Sam had given him strict instructions not to make a fool of himself, or worse draw attention to him and Cas and in the process diverting everyone from the real purpose of the meeting.  


Things didn’t go according to Sam’s plan. Dean zoned out. His eyes roved over Cas’s body, the pants that were drawn tight across his thighs when he crossed one ankle over his knee. The dark hairs on his forearms when he pushed the sleeves of his shirt up. The way Cas gesticulated with his hands when he spoke. In contrast, Dean ended up sitting on his hands, crossing his legs tight, squeezing his thighs together, and occasionally reminding himself to breath.  


“What...what…um…say that again?”  


“I said, jerk, what do you think about us taking about three months to get things in order?”  


“What things, Sam. Sorry I had my mind elsewhere.”  


Idjit,” Bobby exclaimed getting up from his chair to slap Dean on the back of his head. “Much use you’re gonna be sitting there mooning over Castiel. Change places with me, boy.”  


Dean didn’t need telling twice – Bobby had been sitting next to Cas. Being close to Cas would calm him down better than having to look but not touch, Dean reasoned.  
***********************************************************************************************  


“He’s adamant that it was nothing more than a pick me up for anyone who had just had a shock. Even pulled the offended look when I suggested that in those circumstances the usual booster was a generous double whiskey.”  


“That was his only answer?”  


“Sorry, Cassie” Balthazar apologised. “Not like I could counter his claims that it was so harmless that even a young healer would know how to blend the ingredients.”  


Castiel regarded his best friend. He was uncomfortable with delivering Gabriel’s response, his stance and the crestfallen look on his face said what Balthazar hadn’t.  


“You don’t believe him, do you?”  


“No, and neither do you.”  


Castiel sighed reaching for the bottle of whiskey. The irony not lost on him after Balthazar pronouncing it the remedy for shock.  


Balthazar perched on the edge of the table, swirling his large measure of the amber liquid. “I did some digging. You’re not going to like it. I…um…well I found a few of Dean’s previous partners. Let’s say that the words lovelorn puppy, publicly affectionate and fawning were never mentioned. Nowhere even close to being how they described him.”  


“Bobby had kind of hinted at that too. So, my brother decided the way to handle the potential for Dean to continue denying the will of the Goddesses was to give him a love potion! I am going to throttle him when I see him!”  


“Can’t you just ‘bibbity bobbity boo’ it away? I mean, can’t you get another witch or wizard to snap their fingers and ‘bam’ Dean’s back to normal?”  


Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose, debating what he was getting at. A high-ranking member of Planta Gogledd might be able to reverse it, but they’d charge an outrageous price. The reversal couldn’t be done with a snap of the fingers, a wave of the hand. Balthazar had to know that. The only method that would be remotely successful would be slipping Dean yet another bunch of herbs and gods know what in his ale.  


“Oh, come on Cassie. You can do it without telling him. The way he is around you, he’d do anything you tell him to.”  


“And that,” Castiel replied testily, “is exactly why I won’t do it. I won’t abuse the trust of my Gefellfflam.”  


“But, he can’t think straight! He’s useless to your cause if all he can do is paw at you. Uffern, he’ll distract you from the challenge! If you’re not careful about how much time you spend with him, you’ll end up wasting time fending off Dean’s attention when you should be planning and rallying people to your cause.”  


“I could think of worse ways to spend my time,” Castiel sniggered. “Oh no! You don’t get to pull that face after all the years of hearing blow by blow accounts of your multiple conquests.”  


“Indeed. But what are you going to do about Dean?”  


What indeed? With Gabriel denying involvement in Dean’s sudden change in behaviour, there was no way of knowing how long Dean would be stuck like this. If he told Dean what had happened, would Dean believe that it was all Gabriel? Castiel doubted that. If he told him, he’d lose what meagre amount of trust he’d built with Dean and probably Sam too.  


Castiel scrubbed a hand through his hair, rubbed at his eyes in frustration then sank back against his chair. He gently tapping his glass against the table while the competing thoughts chased each other around his brain.  


“Probably best to avoid getting too close to him. Can’t believe I am the one advising this but, don’t get caught alone with Dean in this state – you might do something you’ll both regret. If you’re not going to own up to Gabriel’s meddling and not going to find someone to undo it, then you’ve no choice but to ride it out.” Balthazar paused to take a large gulp of whiskey and pour himself another. “If it’d make things easier for you, I could make a few discreet enquiries. With my reputation,” Balthazar turned slightly pink, but the flush wasn’t from the alcohol, “It wouldn’t be so unbelievable for me to want to know about the usual duration of or how to undo love spells or potions, would it?”  


Castiel agreed to Balthazar’s plan. He hated the idea of deliberately staying away from Dean. They needed to spend time together to get to know one another before the plans for the challenge became too advanced and took up every spare second. There’d be little time afterwards if Castiel beat Zachariah. If he didn’t, then…then it wouldn’t matter.  


“It’ll go your way, Cassie. You know it will. If you weren’t going to beat your stepfather, Aerten wouldn’t have shown you so detailed a picture about why Neffroen needs you and Dean – together.”  


Castiel wished he had Balthazar’s confidence. He gave a non-committal hum. “We’ll see. In the meantime, after all, you’ve heard, you still sure you’re with us?”  
Balthazar raised his glass in answer, “To the true Priffathro of Planta Gorllewin – Castiel Novak.”  


All Castiel had to do was live up to the expectations everyone else had about him. Oh, and find a way to ride out however long it took for Dean to be himself again – without anyone ever letting on what Gabriel had done. Easy as pie!  


***********************************************************************************************  


“Why, Mr Dean Winchester, you be looking a whole heap better than when I last saw you, child.”  


Dean winced. He’d forgotten that Missouri had seen him straight after the incident with Pamela.  


“I needed…”  


“No, you wanted someone to tell you everything you heard and saw last time was not the truth. That what’s going on won't last and everything will return to normal.”  


Dean went to say something, but Missouri shushed him and continued. “You’re behaving strangely, even for you and it’s got you turned around. You don’t understand why you went berserk the last time you were here. You can’t make head nor tail of how you been acting around that beau of yours. You doubt what Bobby keeps telling you. Folks keep trying to persuade you that the things that you know about yourself for an absolute certainty are wrong. The things your daddy told you – they’re the only things that make a lick of sense to you. Dean Winchester is a good for nothing, lowly, no-Hudau, poorly gifted, thick hunter. The only thing you’re good for is…well, maybe I won’t say what that is, but you know sugar, don’t you? And that ain’t ever been with a man before – which, with your daddy’s voice ringing in your ears, you just know is wrong, wrong, wrong.”  


Dean turned beet red. Missouri was, as ever, spot on and making him wish he’d never set foot in the temple again.  


“Come on, sugar, why don’t we find a quiet room and have ourselves a nice chat over some chamomile and honey tea. No, don’t pull that face! It’s calming, and boy do you need calming. I would offer sweet wine, but I see that you have had more than enough alcohol recently. So, tea it is.”  


Dean followed Missouri through the whitewashed stone corridors with their flickering reed torches and stench of tallow. He couldn’t help a giggle when he thought of Gabriel as a feisty ginger tom dashing through these corridors and scenting wherever he thought would most annoy Myrddin. Some of the nervous anxiety melted away at the images, but it returned full force as he sat waiting while Missouri went to fetch the tea.  


“Cerridwen,” Missouri started as she bumped the door open with her hip, “knows I speak what the Gods reveal and what I say ain’t always the full picture, part because they don’t always give it me, part because it won’t do people no good if I blab it all heedlessly. So, you’ll forgive me if it seems I’m speaking in riddles, child and…” Missouri leant in and dropped her voice so it was barely audible even to Dean, “…there are flapping ears in here, I’m sure of it. I won’t be revealing anything I ought not to if you catch my drift.”  


Dean nodded.  


“Drink up then! Can’t have good tea going cold.”  


Dean grimaced as he took a small sip. He hated tea. However, he wasn’t about to argue with Missouri. No-one in their right mind did that.  


“I hear a friend’s cat has gone missing. Don’t expect he’ll come back any time soon, I’m afraid. But he will, eventually… and with a…oh, with a very good friend. That will quite literally put the cat among the pigeons.  


Missouri took a sip of tea. Unlike Dean, she sighed with satisfaction after she’d swallowed.  


“Now, your dates are all wrong. What you’re planning needs to be moved up. Let me see…yes, yes…things need to be accelerated…no time to dilly dally…things are moving faster than any of you know…if you hesitate it may be too late.”  


When Missouri paused her stream of consciousness to take another mouthful of tea, Dean asked “What about me and my…err…me and Cas…Cassie?”  


“Not that, Dean. Not too late for that. There is no doubting that will happen, sugar. Clear as day that image, same as what Pamela told you two the other day. Branwen and Aerten are in sync on that one. Totally meant to be. Child, that is one strong bond you two have. In any possible vision of the future, save one, you two are Gefellflam, two halves brought together to make a whole that serves the best interests of the people of Neffroen, across all clans and cities. No, stay with me, Dean. You can’t run from this, child. Now you get that head of yours right. Quit mooning over them from afar. Step up and do what you were destined to alongside your beloved – listen to Bobby’s advice.”  


Dean drained the rest of his tea in one go. It tasted foul and was still hot enough that it burned his mouth – but it gave him something to do other than sit gawping at Missouri.  


“Is there…”  


“Anything you can do? Why yes. Formally accept the courting gifts, arrange a betrothal handfasting under the auspices of Don and Beli. Work alongside each other as you will when the betrothal period is up, and you celebrate the permanent bonding one to another. You get all that? You gonna do as the Goddesses command?”  


“Yes, Missouri,” Dean said meekly. His mind was racing with everything the old seer had said. They would need to move on Adler earlier than they had intended. Being legally allowed to be closer to Cas worked for him. If they were betrothed, Dean and Cas would have the right to hold hands, to wrap their arms around each other’s waist, to kiss each other – even in public. Dean was so on board with that. What he wasn’t so convinced of was how would Cas take him suggesting a trip to the temple for a betrothal with everything else that they had going on? One thing was for sure, Dean Winchester was on the radar of the Gods and they weren’t about to let him disappear off it. He had better get with their plan and start liking it.  


**************************************************************************************************  


“Castiel.”  


His blood froze at the sound of that voice. How dare she come into his shop?  


“Mother,” he responded, his voice as devoid of emotion as he could muster.  


“When were you going to tell your stepfather and me of your impending betrothal?”  


Never? When Annwn freezes over?  


“I would have thought that the pair of you disowning me as a minor would give you a clue on that one.” Castiel looked his mother over. Her hair was now salt and pepper coloured, still scraped back into a bun with the aid of two simple pearl hairpins. She firmly stuck to the old-fashioned ankle-length, full-skirted dresses she had worn for as long as Castiel could remember. Most women now favoured pants or skirts that finished at the knee.  


“Rumours have been flying, Castiel. As a Novak by birth, who still uses the name I might add…”  


“Let’s be quite clear – you are not a Novak. You married in…”  


“My point is valid, nonetheless. Irrespective of your learnt gifting, and the questionable friends you have chosen, what happens in your life is, and will always be, a matter of interest in society circles. Therefore, it has come to my attention that for a couple of weeks there was a display in your window that could only be described as a CalonRhodd. It is no longer in the window, so I can only assume that it has been accepted by your intended, thus ending the courting period and that a betrothal handfasting is coming soon.”  


“Balthazar and I have been working on a collection of courting items for the discerning Uchelwr of Tân. The display in my window was a part of it. It has recently been sold, rather surprisingly, to a gentleman from Dyfrian who has also commissioned other courting gifts from both of us.” Lying and deliberately needling the woman who had given birth to him about his choice of friends shouldn’t have given him so much perverse pleasure, but Castiel would take his amusement where he found it.  


Naomi ignored Castiel’s explanation. “Friday evening. You and your intended will join Zachariah and me at a feast in Gorllewin’s Great Hall. I won’t take no for an answer, Castiel. You are my only living child, why would I not wish to celebrate your union and anticipate the arrival of grandchildren in a couple of years.”  


Shaking his head in exasperation, Castiel resisted the urge to punch something. “You lost that right when you and your power-hungry assbutt of a second husband threw me out of the house and bribed Judge Kalam to sign papers consigning me to the Phabells as an orphan. As far as I am concerned, both my parents are dead. Good day, Mrs Adler, please leave my shop. You are not welcome to return.”  


As gratifying as throwing Naomi out of the shop had been, Castiel had a huge problem. Despite his denials and refusal to attend the event on Friday, Naomi wasn’t known for either leaving things alone or taking no for an answer. Doing an about-turn and showing up with Dean on his arm would be amusing. Naomi’s face would be a picture. However, he had already made the decision not to get too close to Dean until Gabriel’s potion wore off. Even if Dean could be trusted to keep his hands to himself in public, the two of them together would be tantamount to Castiel showing his hand. That was not something he was ready to do quite yet.  


**************************************************************************************************  


Cernowain it was good to be outside the city walls! Spring had finally arrived. The first flowers of the year were colouring the meadow white, yellow and purple. The sickly-sweet scent of the violets was a welcome assault on his senses after the putrid stench of the city. While you were inside Tân’s walls you were too surrounded by it to notice, but make it out into the fields and forest beyond and the difference in the freshness of the air and the lingering odour on your clothes suddenly hit you.  


Why in the name of the Goddesses had he been so reluctant to get out? Bobby had almost had to drag him on a family hunting trip with Jo. Charlie had even begged off from her job as a scribe to go with them. Dean had a sneaky suspicion that hunting was a ruse. Charlie had a basket hooked over her arm and Sam had a bulging knapsack on his back. They were travelling with way too much stuff for this to be a simple afternoon of recreational hunting. He’d go along with it to keep them happy. Being with family helped keep his mind off Cas being so distant. For a man who claimed to believe wholeheartedly that he and Dean were Gefellflam, he sure was going about things in a funny way. He’d chased Dean down with gifts, but since the first meeting of his faction at the Winchester’s, Cas never allowed himself to get close to Dean and point blank refused to be alone with him.  


Now that Dean had heard first-hand from Missouri, he was totally on-board. He wanted to spend every hour he wasn’t hunting with Cas. That feeling hadn’t changed since the session with Pamela except now he wasn’t ashamed of he felt towards his intended. Dean had even ventured as far as to go ask Jo, Charlie, and even Balthazar for their advice over what to wear for their betrothal ceremony so he could show off his torc and his ceremonial dagger to their best. Unbeknown to anyone else, he’d been down to the Keepers of the Lore and asked about how a traditional betrothal ceremony worked. However, without getting Cas alone long enough to broach the subject of betrothal it was kind of pointless.  


Hunting would help take his mind off it, even if he wasn't as engaged in the hunt as usual. So long as there was some of Ellen’s pie in Sam’s bag or Charlie’s basket it would be a good afternoon.  


Dean’s initial hunch had been right. Hunting was a half-hearted affair.  


Bobby lowered himself to the grass beside him. “Ale?”  


“Thanks, Bobby.” Dean took the tankard, downing it in one. “Any more where that came from?”  


“Do I look like the caterer around here? Ask Red or Sam – they arranged everything. Get me one while you’re at it. My mouth’s drier than the Plains of Pystll Afon.” Bobby leaned back on his elbows and crossed one ankle over the other.  


“Hey, Charlie!” Dean yelled not bothering to hunt around for the small redhead. “Got any more ale for me and Bobby – you know the man drinks it like water.” Dean grinned knowing if he bothered turning his head, Bobby would be scowling at him and no doubt calling him an idjit.  


“You’ve got legs, Winchester. Come and get it yourself.”  


Dean stayed put. If he held out long enough, she’d cave. He was too adorable for people not to give in to him eventually. With some overly dramatic grousing about best friends taking advantage of other people’s good nature, Dean soon found a flagon of ale being ungraciously dumped into his lap.  


“You able to think like a hunter for a few minutes, or you still got your head filled with thoughts of your pretty-boy?” Bobby demanded, pouring himself an ale.  


“Come on, Bobby! I’m not that bad, am I?”  


“Uh-huh! Did you know that Castiel turned up at a feast at the Great Hall on Friday? A banquet that Naomi Adler was hosting for her circle of harpies and their partners?”  


“She’s his mother, so what?”  


Bobby slapped Dean upside the back of his head, causing some ale to slosh out over onto his pants.  


“Ow!”  


“Idjit! She and Zachariah disowned him years ago. Ever wonder why he’s a smith not in command of the garrison under his stepfather?”  


He knew that. Of course, he knew that. Shit! Missouri’s words floated back to him, “What you’re planning needs to be moved up….if you hesitate it may be too late.” He’d interpreted that as moving ahead with their relationship – after all Missouri had told him to get close to Cas to make things happen with him. What if? No, the whole conversation had been about him and Cas. Unless...it wasn’t?  


“Why in Uffern would he go there?”  


“Beats me. Seems like he’s playing a dangerous game.”  


“Uh, Bobby. I…er…went to see Missouri a few days ago. I thought she was just talking about me and Cas, because that’s what I initially wanted to ask her about, but she…well…with what you’ve just said…”  


“Balls! By Aeron, why didn’t you say something sooner? You know better than to think Missouri’s only talking about what you want to hear. She knows everything about the possibilities in your life once she starts. She’s the most gifted seer we have – heck possibly the most gifted Neffroen’s had in a century or so. Zachariah knows something is up. He can’t get Gabriel so he’s bypassing that route and…”  


“Going for Cas!”  


The other three wandered over at the raised voices.  


“Dad? Dean?”  


“Dean? Bobby?”  


“Jo, Charlie would you excuse us? We need to talk to Sam about hunter business.”  


Both Charlie and Jo drew themselves up to their full height. Against Sam, or even Dean, the two women were diminutive, but as they say it’s not the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog that matters. Between them, Jo and Charlie made quite the intimidating sight.  


“You tell us what’s really going on, and we might agree,” Charlie insisted.  


“I’m a hunter too,” Jo declared. “If it’s hunter business, then I have a right to hear it.”  


Dean and Bobby gulped down what ale they had left.  


Bobby crossed his arms over his chest, clamping his mouth shut. 

Dean followed suit.  


“I think you should share something with them,” Sam started softly. “What’s going on affects Jo, not as a hunter, but as your stepdaughter, Bobby. You can’t shield her from this.”  


“If Jo gets in on this, so do I.”  


“Ok, ok,” Bobby grumbled. “Sit.”  


After hearing Dean and Bobby’s news, it was Charlie who piped up first. “You might have this wrong, you know? You said that it was Naomi’s do, not Zachariah’s, right? You’re looking at this from the male hunter perspective, not the maternal one. I know Mrs Adler isn’t going to win any accolades for her maternal instincts but believe me when I tell you that as deep as they are buried, they are there. You couple that with the almost obsessive need to maintain social standing and it all makes perfect sense why she invited Castiel to the event.”  


Realisation appeared on Jo’s face. From the looks of bemusement on Sam and Bobby’s faces, they were as oblivious as to what Charlie meant as he was.  


Charlie shook her head, an amused smile on her face. “I’m going to have to spell this out for you, aren’t I? I will bet you my novel collection that the society gossips have been blabbing about the stunning bronze torc with the green gemstones that had pride of place in Castiel’s shop window. How Castiel had placed it there just as any craftsman would do with a CalonRhodd to attract his Enaidffrind, and how it had now been removed from the display. Not wanting to seem at a disadvantage to her cronies, Naomi paid her erstwhile son a visit, created some bull about it all being Zacharia’s idea to disown Castiel, and insisted that he and his lady friend join her at the banquet. Castiel having enough brains not to rock the boat too much, probably denied the torc was what we all know it was,” Charlie winked at Dean, “but went to the feast by himself to placate Naomi, maybe hoping that would prevent anyone poking their noses into places they didn’t belong.”  


“How’d you get so wise?”  


Charlie jumped up to her feet. “It’s a gift,” she pronounced dropping into a low curtsy before skipping over to the basket and knapsack then hauling them back over to the small hunting party.  


In a flash, he knew that his plans of a public betrothal ceremony would have to be shelved. Thankfully, he could still wear the outfit he’d chosen. Charlie’s explanation made sense, to a point. Now that he had a clearer understanding of what Missouri had seen, Dean knew that unfortunately while some of Naomi’s motives may well have been those of a mother wishing to make amends at a significant milestone in her child’s life, there was more to it. Zachariah was using Naomi to get to Cas. Uffern, Adler might even have correctly surmised that Gabriel’s disappearance didn’t mean the threat to his plans had ceased.  


“Bobby. I need you to work out when and where would be best for Cas’s Challenge. It needs to be in the next month, six weeks max. We’re running out of time! Sam get the faction together – somewhere friendly but not our place, Cas’s, nor the Fellen Fech. Charlie and Jo, you’re with me planning a secret, but totally awesome betrothal ceremony. Drink and eat up, people! We got work to do.”  


Dean didn’t miss the raised eyebrows that passed between Sam and Bobby.  


**************************************************************************************************  


“Missouri said you’d be stopping by. She also told me I’m to go with whatever you’re asking and not question it. Implied that I’d be questioning the Goddesses if I did. Something about this unusual request being seen by her, Pamela Barnes, and your brother separately and unprompted. Missouri talks like that, I listen.”  


Why was this not shocking, in the slightest? It was obvious that having ordered Dean to get a move on with the betrothal that Missouri would have badgered the High Priest into not making a fuss.  


“Who doesn’t?” Dean flashed one of his winning smiles. “I came to see about getting a quiet, preferably non-public, betrothal ceremony.”  


“Aha. In some trouble then, I see. Who’s the lucky girl?”  


Dean steeled himself for the backlash. Missouri may have primed him, but Dean doubted the old man would roll over without a fight on what he was asking.  


“No trouble. Not that stupid.” That was debatable, but he wasn’t in the sort of trouble that the priest evidently had in mind. “Castiel Novak and I will be the ones undertaking the ceremony.”  


The priest floundered for a suitable response.  


“Yes, I said Castiel Novak – as in the master gemsmith, a man and neither of us from Denillen.”  


“Well,” the old man regained some of his equanimity, “that explains why Missouri felt the need to warn me against slinging you out on your ear, Mr Winchester. Yes, I can see why you’d be wanting a very private ceremony – not the usual one in the square behind Lleun’s temple. So be it.”  


It was Dean’s turn to be surprised. Missouri intervention or not, he hadn’t expected the High Priest would cave that easily.  


“Good. We’ll need the traditional wording. Nothing should be any different except the place and the number of people involved. Honestly, we…well I…” here he was talking for 

Castiel who still had no idea that a betrothal was happening. They’d never talked about it with all the focus on Castiel’s challenge for Priffathro. “I decided only immediate family and a couple of close friends – so…”  


“I take it Mrs Adler will not be in attendance, then?”  


“Uffern, no! No way!”  


“I see.” The priest kept all judgement out of his voice, so Dean had no way of knowing if his statement was a good or a bad thing.  


“Maybe seven people at most. Do you have anywhere suitable – we’d like to ensure that the news doesn’t inadvertently get out before…”  


“You are sure that you will go through with the handfasting and are ready to face whatever the community throws at you?”  


Dean nodded. The priest wasn’t wrong, it just wasn’t the whole truth of the matter.  


“Very wise, young man. I’ll get one of my most trusted priests to perform. That way, it will attract less attention than if I am missing from my other duties to perform it. Now when were you thinking?”  


Betrothal ceremonies usually took place on a Saturday. If they wanted to keep things hidden, it would be better for theirs to take place on another day – preferably one when Cas wouldn’t have to close the store.  


“Sunday week? No-one will have to beg off – except possibly Sam, but he changes his shifts all the time…”  
“And both Missouri and Pamela know what’s going on so will adequately cover for him in the advent of any awkward questions. We will make that work, Mr Winchester. 11am Sunday week it is. Oh…and Mr Winchester…Congratulations to you and your beau.” The High Priest bowed slightly before spinning on his heel and walking away.  


*************************************************************************************************  


Castiel rubbed out the offending line. The design wasn’t working. He could have turned this part over to Balthazar, probably should have, but it was important that he created the piece from start to finish. If he had asked, he knew that Balthazar would have had no hesitation, but he’d already pulled his friend neck-deep into his mess. He dared not ask anymore.  


Gifting a bejewelled silver chalice to his mother was a stroke of genius. Disingenuous as it was, making people think that the rift between mother and son was being mended should help divert any attention away from what was really going on. Castiel wasn’t naïve enough to think that Zachariah had given up after Gabriel skipped town, but there had been no indication at the feast that he was behind Naomi’s sudden reappearance in Castiel ‘s life. There was the faintest possibility that his mother was genuinely remorseful for her actions and trying to make amends at the thought of grandchildren, however erroneous that idea might be.  


For once creating something personal didn’t mean him being hidden away in the workshop or up late hunched over his kitchen table. This time, he could design the gift for Naomi out in the open while watching the store. How he’d managed not to have anything stolen from the shop while courting Dean was a mystery with all the time he’d been in the workshop and only run out to the shop when he thought he heard a customer come in. Knowing the Goddesses intervention in his and Dean’s lives, Castiel wasn’t going to question how that miracle happened.  


Castiel stared out of the window. The continued presence of the Breniol on the streets was unnerving. Feeding into his paranoia that his stepfather was still searching for anyone who might rise against him, one of the guards was often stationed to get an unobstructed view of the shop. He smiled to himself. Despite the surveillance, none of the Breniol patrols had even approached him, much less questioned him. The warriors may have been good at fighting but playing detective, not so much. Castiel returned his attention to the gift for his mother.  


The damned thing wouldn’t flow right! Comparatively, creating the gifts for Dean had been a piece of cake. Sure, he had gotten a little help from Balthazar with the spoons. The need for additional artistic flair aside, Castiel had intuitively known how to design and embellish the pieces for Dean.  


Keeping away from Dean was proving exhausting. Every time he distanced himself, Dean would magically appear back at his side. To avoid every meeting turning into a farce, Castiel had insisted that Bobby schedule meetings with the wider group of followers who had pledged to support him without Dean in attendance. Unfortunately, that usually meant no Sam either, as a precaution, but it was a price Castiel would pay to keep his and Dean’s relationship under wraps.  


Castiel wondered whether he had time to make a trip to the country. There was a witch named Kali who lived just outside the village of Ynyslas, rumour had it that she had recently adopted a tomcat as her familiar. According to those who had been there, the witch’s garden was filled with herbs and flowers, some medicinal, some purely for show. Several of the plants people said grew in the witch’s garden shouldn’t have been able to survive in the region’s climate, being more suited to Coeden’s. Of course, as delightful as the cottage garden sounded, Castiel really wanted to visit Kali’s to talk to her familiar. Between the two of them, Castiel knew they would be able to remove whatever had bewitched Dean, no matter how much Gabriel continued to deny having done so.  


Castiel wanted a relationship with the real Dean. It still worried him that Dean wouldn’t believe that Castiel had nothing to do with the potion. If only he could move things with Zachariah forward, then there was a chance that he and Dean would have the time to get to know one another better. He had toyed with the idea of floating a betrothal to Dean but thought better of it. The idea sounded way too soft and romantic for the rugged hunter with the obsidian green eyes and kissable lips.  


The bell above the door rang and for the next hour, Castiel was wrapped up in paying customers. When he came back to the unfinished design on the counter, he could see exactly what was wrong with it. The design he had envisaged was more like something over the top Balthazar would create. It would be too feminine and glitzy for his mother. Her taste had always been understated, like the simple old-fashioned clothes she insisted on wearing. Castiel screwed up the paper and began again on something simpler.  


“Cas! Cas! Cas!” Dean bolted through the door. “Cas, I missed you so much!”  


Castiel steeled himself. Hoping that the guards wouldn’t be looking when Dean launched himself at Castiel.  


“Close-up shop for a bit. We need to talk. Meet me out back.” Dean charged straight past Castiel not giving him a second to question what was going on.  


Dutifully, Castiel left the counter, bolted the door, and turned the sign to closed. Offering a small prayer of thanks to Aerten, Castiel observed that Dean had chosen his moment carefully. No guards in sight. Castiel hurried back out to the workshop to find Dean perched in Castiel’s favourite spot. He resisted the urge to growl at Dean because he looked so beguiling. Besides Castiel shouldn’t be so possessive over things with his intended. What was his would be Dean’s, that was the way that these things went, and he would never want to deny Dean anything. He had heard people say that when you find the one – your Enaidffrind – you can’t imagine life without them, their happiness becomes your happiness. Yes, Castiel was in head over heels.  


“Don’t just stand there. Sit down,” Dean ordered. It looked like he was using all his self-control to stay put and not pounce on Castiel. “Great. Great. Stay there…don’t move…not yet anyway.”  


Dean jumped up. Castiel tensed expecting Dean to fling himself at him. Instead, Dean raced to the back door. Opening it, Dean bent down and picked something up from just outside the door. A plant.  


“This is for you. You shouldn’t be the only one giving gifts…so um, Charlie says that this means eternal love and persistence. I…I…” the tips of Dean’s ears turned pink as he looked up from underneath his long eyelashes. “I thought you’d like that. It sort of sums us up – you’ve been persistent in courting me…and well, according to the Goddesses ours is an eternal love.”  


Castiel took the plant and set it down on one of the work-surfaces with a wistful look in his eyes. “Thank you, Dean. That was most thoughtful. You said we needed to talk, what about?”  


Dean closed the gap between them. He wrapped his arm around Castiel’s waist, dipping his head to place it on Castiel’s shoulder.  


No-one else was around to see, so Castiel gave in to the embrace, and wrapped his arms around Dean too, leaning in close and inhaling his sweat and soap scent.  


“As pleasant as this is, it isn’t talking.” Castiel extricated himself from Dean’s grip. He wished he could have basked in the tender moment for longer. Taking Dean’s hand, he led him back to his seat on the anvil. Then he returned to his seat by the fireplace.  


“Right. Yes, talking. I know what we’re doing is unusual, but we both know that it’s blessed by the Goddesses. So, I thought that we should do things right. I mean…well…I know we aren’t in Denillen, but if we were…or one of us was…um…a female then…you know there is a way that,” Dean babbled on losing Castiel in the process. “It’s been laid down…it’s in the lore of our people…that…well…when you know who you’re supposed to be with…like us, only, of course, we’re more than just Enaidffrind…uh, sorry, I’m rambling…Cernowain! I’m no good with the words thing, Cas. Please, I think we should follow tradition. I got Kevin Tran to show me what is the right thing to do. I spoke with the High Priest at the temple…um, that’s at the temple of Don and Beli…”  


Castiel was beginning to see where Dean might be heading with his long-winded speech. He only wished he could be sure that this was Dean and not Gabriel’s blasted love potion talking. Because, yes, he wanted nothing more than to declare to the rest of Tân that Dean was his. All his misgivings about revealing his hand to Zachariah too soon aside, if this were what Dean genuinely wanted, Castiel would agree to it in a heartbeat. Only the doubt about what was driving the urgency made Castiel pause.  


“Get this, Missouri had already talked to him. So, when I suggested that we do our betrothal ceremony at the temple he was already ok with the idea. Sunday week, 11 am at the temple. Bring Balthazar.”  


When Dean finally finished, Castiel knelt in front of him and clasped Dean’s hands in his. “Dean Winchester, are you asking me to formally declare our betrothal in front of the Gods, our family and friends? Is this wise in our…uh…situation?”  


“Cas. Cas,” Dean pleaded, “please say yes!”  


True to the realisation that he couldn’t deny Dean anything, Castiel said, “Yes, Dean. I will be there at 11 Sunday week, with Balthazar at my side.”  


Dean kissed him full on the lips. Without thinking about it Castiel returned the kiss, gripping Dean’s hips tight. Why hadn’t he done this sooner? Quickly though, Castiel came to his senses. He released Dean and stepped back.  


For a moment, Dean stood still looking completely lovestruck. Castiel contemplated whether he had a similar look on his.  


When Dean left going back out through the shop door, a flummoxed Castiel stood behind the counter watching him go and lightly running his fingers over his lips. What in Uffern had he just agreed to?  
*************************************************************************************************  


“Damnit, Dean!” Bobby hissed. “Can’t you leave Castiel alone for like two seconds? And you…” Bobby turned his irritation to Cas, “ought to know better. If I hadn’t heard from reliable sources about the divine plan for you two, I’d think some sorcerer had bewitched you two knuckleheads.”  


“Dean,” Cas whispered, “perhaps it would be wiser if you sat next to Sam, not me. There are people here we don’t yet trust with our secret. Better to keep it hidden for a while longer.”  


Dean looked out at the assembled throng. Humiliation washed over him. Every eye in the place was glued to him, gawping at the sight of his head drooping onto Cas’s shoulder. The first time in a couple of weeks that Cas had allowed Dean and Sam into a meeting about the Challenge and…and…one look at Cas and Dean could’t think straight. Cernowain, but he really is a pathetic excuse for a hunter! All that talk about him being some great strategist, that his wise counsel will help Cas lead the Planta – it’s all nonsense. Every word of it! He was never going to live up to those expectations if all he can do when he sees Cas is give in to the burning need to be as close as humanly possible to him – then there’s the thoughts that keep him from paying attention to anything anyone else is saying. Oh, those thoughts of him and Cas and…swathes of bare, tanned flesh…  


Cerridwen be praised for quick thinking Sam! In a flash, he was at Dean’s elbow, helping him to his feet, one hand under his arm, the other at his elbow. Dean tried to fight Sam at first. Then, it dawned on him. Sam was pretending that Dean wasn’t feeling well. Dean swallowed his pride allowing Sam to help him up. In the process, they’d hopefully hide his and Cas’s closeness.  


“I’m going to take Dean outside for some air – some bad ale last night at the Hare and Hounds,” Sam told the gathered hunters and warriors by way of explanation for Dean’s actions.  


Outside Sam continued the charade, leaning Dean again the wall then trapping him there with his hands either side of Dean’s shoulders.  


“This has gone on long enough, Dean,” Sam snapped his bangs falling over his eyes obscuring Dean’s view of the anger in them. “Snap out of it because we all know you aren’t some starry-eyed sixteen-year-old maiden. You’re a hunter and a Winchester. Gefellfflam or not, you know better than to screw up a council of war with idiotic PDAs. You’d never have done that with Cassie or Lisa. Don’t tell me it’s different simply because the Goddesses ordained it. It’s not you! Bobby’s right. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that…” Sam’s eyes went wide as saucers. “Nevermind. Tell me when you think you’re good to go back and keep your affections under control. This is about Cas’s destiny, not getting some, Dean!”  


The worrying sensation that the visit to Missouri had quieted began to gnaw at him again. This time though there were no concerns about Cas having second thoughts. The kiss and soft touches that had happened in Cas’s workshop had been repeated whenever they could find somewhere to be alone. Dean had foolishly believed that after Cas had caved the insatiable need to fawn over him would disappear. It hadn’t become any worse, but he was still unable to control himself around Cas – no matter how hard he tried. Cas was like Laudanum to him. The more Dean got, the more he wanted. Sam was correct, even when Dean had thought he was in love with Cassie and then later with Lisa it had never been like this.  


Kevin would know the answer. The young Keeper always did and at least Kevin spoke in plain language, not riddles like Missouri. Dean still didn’t have the guts to face Pamela. Besides, a Keeper of the Lore was far less scary than a seer who could see things you didn’t want them to if the Gods allowed.  


“Get off me, Samantha. Let’s do this thing!” Dean pushed off the wall. He was going to go back in there and add his copper cridde to the planning. Bobby was good, but the old codger wasn’t the one that Aerten had picked to stand alongside Castiel Novak, Priffathro of Planta Gorllewin. Was it wrong to believe that a Goddess was off her rocker? Because Dean suspected that Aerten was several logs short of a cabin. “Sorry about that. Now, what did I miss?”  


Bobby had been giving a history lesson. Dean took stock of those in attendance. Few were as old as Bobby. Most were close in age to him and Cas so had not been old enough to participate in a Challenge. Cas challenging Zachariah wasn’t about righting hereditary wrongs or overthrowing injustice. Well, it was about both those things, but it was also more significant if the age of Cas’s followers was anything to go by. Cas’s challenge was about a changing of the guard. The handing over of power to a younger generation and a new way of doing things. He and Cas were just the start. The movement would rapidly spread through the whole of Nefforen creating a more open and tolerant society based on who a person was, not the power of Hudau, their gifting, or who they loved. Yes, loved! It was official, Dean Winchester loved Castiel Novak. The only thorn in his side was that no one outside their immediate circle could know that yet and it was getting more difficult by the day to hide it.  


He had a role to fulfil. Dean wasn’t yet ready to provide wise guidance to Cas nor did he know how to structure the small clique that had formed around Cas to recruit others to the cause. He couldn’t see how to marshal them on the days that the rounds of the Challenge took place. But when they won, and Cas would win, Dean understood that it would be up to him to sway the opinions of the disgruntled members of the Planta to Cas. It was that part of his role that he needed to start with now, leading them to draw the inevitable conclusion that a Challenge to Adler’s leadership was necessary. With Cas in attendance only the most ignorant wouldn’t get the hint that Cas was the obvious replacement. It was too early in the scheme to declare that formally. There was still one part of the plan Dean didn’t want to think about, and perhaps this was what Missouri had meant about listening to Bobby, was what to do with those who stubbornly clung to Adler’s cause, refusing to accept Cas. John had told tales of what had happened to the losing side from Roman and Adler’s challenges. As hardened a hunter as he was, it left a sour taste in Dean’s mouth to think that he and Castiel would behave in a similar way to those they defeated. Yeah, Bobby could handle that with Cas when the time came. But none of them needed to worry about that tonight.  


More nervous than he could ever remember being, Dean beckoned to Bobby and Cas. He’d never spoken in public like this before. With what his future held, Dean was going to have to get used to speaking in front of the Planta and have people looking to him for words of leadership. It wasn’t a large room, he reasoned. He’d made an ass of himself singing drunk at one of Ash’s infamous singalong nights with a much bigger crowd. Outside of their inner circle, there wasn’t even another ten men.  


“I think that’s enough of a wander through the mists of time. Thanks, Bobby. Apparently, as penance for my ill-advised behaviour, it’s up to me to take over. It will be obvious to all of you from Bobby’s lecture that those of us who called this meeting are unhappy with what has been going on within Gorllewin. As a member of a founding family, the honour of the Planta is something I am protective about. I am all for change where it is for the good of the masses and at the same time, I’m a traditionalist. I don’t like what I see happening and the rumours that I hear from within the higher echelons of the Planta. Hunters’ roles being reduced. The Breniol set for round-the-clock patrols of the city. Secret training camps for soldiers on the remote Dyfrian shores. Random members of the Planta being hunted and disappearing with little explanation. I don’t know about you, but it doesn’t sit well with me. I don’t know for sure, but it is possible that the time is fast approaching for another Challenge. Until I know for sure what is going on, I’m not advocating anything, but if like me you care for the honour of the Planta and value Nefforen’s way of life, think about it. Listen to what is going on within the Planta. Investigate rumours and hearsay for yourselves.”  


Dean collapsed onto the nearest empty seat. A great orator would know how to finish a speech like that. Him? He’d run out of steam and his mouth stopped working. If this was what he had to look forward to as Cas’s consul, he definitely wasn’t up to the job – Goddesses or no Goddesses.  


Luckily, Bobby picked up the slack thanking them all the attendees for their time, suggesting that they talk to the other people in the room, and most importantly of all – the bar was open for the next hour.  


**********************************************************************************************  


Castiel picked at the hangnail on his index finger. Breathe, Novak! Breathe. This is what you want. This is where things were going to end up even if Gabriel hadn’t helped things along.  


Balthazar clapped him on the shoulder. Castiel was pleased to see that his friend was grinning from ear to ear.  


“Drink this! It’ll help with the nerves – so I’m told!”  


Balthazar held out a small silver flask in a brown leather holder.  


Castiel eyed it suspiciously.  


“No,” Balthazar laughed, “I didn’t get this one my last trip out to the woods! It’s straight from the bottle at the Fellen Fech – just don’t tell Ellen!”  


Castiel eagerly swiped the flask from Balthazar’s hand. He took a big swig then handed it back, wiping his mouth against the back of his hand.  


“Ready?”  


Castiel nodded. If everything had gone to plan, the rest of their party would already be at the temple. With one notable exception. As great a friend as Balthazar was, Castiel wished that Gabriel could be there by his side as well. Dean would have his brother, his adopted family and his two closest friends with him. Castiel would only have Balthazar. It was too dangerous for Gabriel to come back into the city – even in his cat form.  


The priest met them at the temple steps dressed in his usual robes. Castiel’s heart lurched into his mouth. Why was he not in his ceremonial garb? The plain brown calf-length tunic wasn’t what they wore on these occasions. Castiel had been at other Betrothal ceremonies with the priest in their full green regalia and headdress. Yet, this priest had introduced himself as Jeremiah – the priest Dean had told him would be performing the Betrothal.  


Finding himself lagging behind the other two while he had his minor breakdown, Castiel hurried after them. Jeremiah’s silence did nothing to ease Castiel’s anxiety. Like most city folk, Castiel had been into Don and Beli’s temple on festival days. He’d made offerings in the public sanctuary and taken part in ceremonies in the courtyards. This time, Jeremiah was leading them away from the public spaces, and away from the Priest’s Holy Sanctum. Compared to the spaces for private consultations in other temples, Don and Beli’s made no display of opulence. The corridor was dark and forbidding. Not the ideal setting for the joyous occasion he had come to the temple expecting.  


Halfway down one corridor, well out of sight of prying eyes, Jeremiah asked Castiel and Balthazar to take a step back. With a flick of his wrist, the priest transformed his clothing. In place of the drab everyday tunic, Jeremiah was now clothed in the traditional robes Castiel had expected.  


He was so relieved he almost missed the tug at his sleeve. No-one else was in the corridor except him, Balthazar and Jeremiah. Castiel shrugged it off as a figment of his imagination. After the stress of the last few minutes on top of the general anxiety about the ceremony and then being flooded with relief, it was only natural that he’d be over-sensitive to what was more likely an effect of the slight breeze or catching his clothing on the corridor wall.  


Not long after the priest’s transformation, he led them into a brightly lit room, hung with green wall coverings decorated with the symbols of Don and Beli in silver thread. Castiel’s attention was immediately drawn to the chest-height stone in the middle. There was no decoration or carving to it. The stone was just as it would have been on a Coeden hillside, other than the perfect hole that looked barely large enough for a man’s hand to pass through.  


“You think this is the first time we’ve had a request for a secret betrothal,” Jeremiah said correctly guessing the reason for the perplexed expression on Castiel’s face.  


“I hadn’t given it any thought,” Castiel admitted. His eyes darted around the room noting who Dean had chosen to invite. They were the perfect people, although he wondered how the Harvelle’s would explain their collective absence from the Fellen Fech.  


“Castiel, Dean! Please step forward and take your place on either side of the stone.”  
Castiel swore that there was another tug on his shirt. The pull was strong enough that although the rest of him took a stride towards the betrothal stone, his arm slipped behind him. Feeling somewhat self-conscious under the gaze of their witnesses, Castiel yanked against the unseen object he had snagged his shirt on. It came free easily enough, but not without a small rip at the cuff.  


Castiel suppressed his surprise when a voice in his head told him, “A small rip in the clothing of the bride is good luck. I know, I know you’re not the bride – but I can’t talk to Dean-o like this, can I?”  


Castiel examined the rip fondly. He didn’t dare look behind him to where he figured his brother was standing. No-one else but him needed to know that Gabriel had taken the risk to be with them for the ceremony. Castiel was grateful to have his brother’s support on such an important day.  
When both Dean and Castiel were standing at the stone, the priest motioned for them to pass their hands through the hole. Then, Jeremiah held both hands up to the heavens while he gave a traditional blessing:  


“Dwy gallon, un dyhead  
Dwy dafod ond un iaith  
Dwy raff yh cydio’n ddolen  
Dau enaid ond un daith.”  


Castiel’s old Neffroen was rusty. He knew one or two words without having to make his brain ache: “un” was one, ‘dwy’ was two, ‘gallon’ was heart, and ‘enaid’ was soul. The piece appeared to be about how the two became one. An apt blessing.  


Castiel thought that the ceremony was over. He wasn’t expecting it when Jeremiah told them to remain holding hands, or that at that cue Charlie would approach them. She placed a small burlap pouch tied with a lavender coloured ribbon in his free hand, then did the same with Dean.  


“Lavender signifies love, loyalty and devotion. We all wish these things for you that you may have a long-lasting, happy union. Instead of a binding ribbon around your wrist, you can keep these bags on you until you formally consecrate your handfasting before us all in the square,” she explained with a massive grin on her face, her eyes glistening slightly.  


Castiel hardly paid any attention to the rest of the ceremony, delirious that Dean, his Geffellflam was officially his.  


**************************************************************************************************  


Finally! He was alone with Cas and they were official. As far as Dean was aware their bid to keep the betrothal secret had worked. For a week, they had continued to live separate lives, going about their business as they had always done. Tonight, they would spend their first night together.  


Charlie had cheekily suggested that if they wanted to follow tradition that closely then it was only right that on their first night together those who had been at the ceremony gather for the traditional first-night bundling. It would not have been an understatement to say that suggestion had been met with fierce opposition from almost all concerned parties, not just Cas and Dean.  


In an uncharacteristically obscenity laden response, Sam had declared the custom unnecessary for two full-grown men and that he had no desire to see his brother in bed with Cas even if they were both fully clothed. Bobby had also outright refused to be the one ‘bundling’ the two men together. He grumbled about it not being in the job description of acting as adoptive father to two overgrown idjits.  


“Ellen left us some slices of jumbleberry pie,” Cas said carrying the half-filled pie-dish into the living area.  


Dean didn’t want pie. Unbelievably, Dean had better things to do than stuff his face with Ellen’s mouth-watering sweetcrust pastry and the tart berry filling. He’d been patient. 

Never had Dean Winchester waited so long to become intimate with anyone he hadn’t paid for by the hour.  


“How about we save the pie for later?”  


Cas cocked his head to the side. His eyes narrowed as he stared at Dean, confused. “Uh…are you feeling all right, Dean?”  


Dean closed the gap between them. He took the pie from Cas’s hand and placed it on the table. “Never felt better,” he said waiting for Cas to right his head before he drew him in tight against his chest. Dean leaned down and buried his nose in Cas’s hair, inhaling the acrid aroma of the furnace that still lingered even after Cas had bathed.  


Cas lifted his head, Dean could feel the warm puffs of Castiel’s breath as the ghosted over his lips. Dean quivered involuntarily, suddenly coming over all lightheaded.  
Cas lifted a hand from Dean’s waist to his face. He skimmed his fingertips over Dean’s cheekbones along his jaw and down his torso before resting them over Dean’s heart. Pressing the flat of his palm into Dean’s chest, Cas growled, “mine!”  


“Yours,” Dean agreed. As if Cas could think that Dean’s heart could ever belong to anyone else! “Kiss me, Cas.”  


Cas, the traitor, tasted of the jumbleberry pie he must have sneaked a mouthful of in the kitchen and whisky. His lips were slightly chapped, but they were so seductive. Each time over the previous few weeks they’d shared those heated closed-mouth kisses, there had been an unspoken promise of so much more. Dean was done waiting to experience the fulfilment of those promises.  


Dean slid a hand behind Cas’s neck, smashing their mouths tighter together. Ferociously he took control of the kiss, deepening it and plundering Cas’s mouth, as his betrothed melted into Dean’s rough caress.  


Cas pulled back for air, his chest rapidly rising and falling. “We don’t have to do this – not yet. We can wait for as long as you want, we’ve got the rest of our lives to get there. Are you sure you want this now?”  


Unable to find his voice, Dean nodded. They’d have to eventually, so why not now? Better to have a freak-out over being with a man before they handfasted than after, right? He nuzzled into Cas’s touch as he raked a hand through Dean’s short sandy-blond hair and nipped at his earlobe  


Dean moaned, grinding his hips against Cas’s. He couldn’t help himself when Cas had teasingly trailed his lips down the side of his neck and begun sucking on that sensitive spot between his neck and shoulder. In a flash of sanity, he hoped Cas didn’t leave any marks that Dean would have to explain away!  


“Bed. We’ll take it slow…” Castiel bit the corner of his flushed bottom lip.  


Cernowain that made him look even sexier! Dean could barely contain the whimper as he led the way into what he supposed had become their bedroom.  


True to his word, Cas took his time. Unhurriedly he undressed Dean. As Cas removed each article of clothing and the cool air hit his body, shivers ran up and down Dean’s spine.  


Dean was self-conscious lying there naked while Cas’s eyes roved his body. Even the exertions of the hunting lifestyle couldn’t make up for all the pie, ale, and rich stews Ellen fed him. Dean knew he looked ok, but his body was soft. Softer than he thought Cas would be. He was impatient to find out.  


“Too many clothes, Cas,” he whined.  


Cas apparently had none of Dean’s inhibitions, quickly divesting his clothes which joined Dean’s in a pile on the floor.  


Dean unconsciously licked his lips. Cas’s body was as fit and perfect as he had imagined. The tanned skin enhanced the definition in his arms and thighs and the curve of his muscles set off the dusting of dark hair on Cas’s chest. In the hazy firelight, Cas’s eyes stood out. His eyes travelled lower following a trail of hair till he reached the thick cock standing semi-erect. He had no idea what it would feel like thrusting into him. Could he even take it? Dean whimpered with a mix of trepidation and longing.  


“Shh,” Cas purred climbing onto the bed. He stroked Dean’s thigh softly, “You can say stop any time and we will. Open your legs wide. I’ll make this so good for you if you’ll trust me. Balthazar told me what to do…and…” Cas winked. It was unbelievably sexy. “gave me a little something to help make it easier for you.”  


Cas dipped his head and licked the inside of Dean’s thigh making Dean tremble. Then Cas leaned in and took Dean's cock in his mouth. Dean felt himself filling out, hardening as Cas’s lips wrapped around him. Dean didn’t think he’d ever get enough of the perfection that was Cas's mouth or of the way he looked up through his eyelashes to watch Dean’s face as he started to suck him.  


Too soon for Dean’s liking, Cas pulled off with a pop.  


“Do you trust me, Dean? "Want me to take you hard and make you mine completely."  


Words stuck in Dean’s throat, so he nodded.  


Cas reached behind Dean to grab a pillow. “Hips up! this way I get to see your face when I enter you.” Cas slid the pillow under Dean’s ass. Out of nowhere, Cas produced a tiny glass vial. He poured some out into his hands, making sure to coat those long fingers as well as the palm. “Lay back and relax. You’ll open better if you relax.” Cas ran a finger around the rim of Dean’s hole, teasing it. Slowly he inserted the tip of one finger just past the entrance. Dean’s muscles tightened. It wasn’t hurting – it was…weird.  


“Relax, Dean,” Cas ordered then blew gently across the head of Dean’s cock making Dean mewl with pleasure.  


Why was relaxing so Uffern hard? He wanted this with Cas, not because it was destined to be but because the man was a walking wet dream. Dean made a conscious effort to relax. It was made more difficult as Cas slid the finger in further and then back out again. With Dean not saying a word, Cas kept going sliding the finger in and out. The weird feeling vanished. Now it felt good and Dean felt himself opening, wanting more, loving watching the intense look on Cas’s face as Cas watched Dean for signs of distress.  


“It’s good, Cas,” he said.  


Cas added another finger. He paused as Dean went tense until he adjusted, then he relaxed. Cas pumped the two fingers in and out a few times until Dean fully relaxed into the sensation again.  


Cas began pumping his cock with his other hand, readying it. “Still trust me?”  


“Yes. Come on, Cas. I want to feel you. I want you to make me yours.”  


Cas swooped in for another kiss. Dean sighed into Cas’s mouth. Cas swirled his tongue around Dean’s mouth, all the time working his fingers steadily back and forth. Dean would have liked to say that the nerves melted away with that passionate kiss, but he was still scared about the whole deal.  


Cas positioned himself between Dean’s thighs. Gently he parted Dean’s buttocks and nudged the head of his cock against Dean’s hole. Dean gasped. This was a different weird sensation – it burned not unbearably but still, it made him feel strangely full.  


“Let go, Dean. Don’t fight it. You’ll adjust to the stretch and then it will feel good,” Cas told him pushing in another fraction.  


Dean thought Cas looked like some daemon from the pits of Annwn hovering above him with his dark tousled hair, lust-blown pupils, and the sheen of sweat on his firm chest.  


Cas found the right angle, dragging his cock over Dean’s prostate. As Cas’s thrusts fell into a rhythm, Dean’s prostate hardened and began to pulse with pleasure. Why had no one ever let on how good this felt? Gods they were so doing this again. Only one thing could make it more mind-melting.  


Moaning incoherently, Dean grabbed for his cock working it in time with Cas’s increasingly frantic thrusts. And then Dean was coming, the sensations in his body overwhelming him. Now, all capacity to utter even one syllable had left him. He was vaguely aware of Cas shuddering above him.  


Cas knelt between Dean’s legs as they both panted trying to return their breathing to normal. The look of fierce devotion on Cas’s face would have stunned Dean into silence - if he’d had enough breath to speak.  


**************************************************************************************************  


“Naomi.”  


“That is mother, to you.”  


Castiel bristled as Naomi breezed past him into the living area. “No, I got it right the first time. You have yet to earn back the right of being called mother. Don’t think that because you invited me to one get together with your friends at the Great Hall and that I attended that this rift between us is fixed.”  


“Nonsense, darling. Now,” Naomi’s eyes darted around the room, her top lip curling a little as she eyed the meagre furnishings, “when are you going to do the right thing by this woman that you’re hiding from us? This place is begging for a woman’s touch.” She bent down and dusted off the seat of one of the chairs before perching on the edge of it. “I am sure that Zachariah and I could help you with decking the place out more appropriately for a young man starting out in family life.”  


Please, Dean, don’t come home yet. Please be out until she’s gone. Dean had gone hunting that afternoon and to keep up appearances they had agreed that he would go to the Fellen Fech with Sam and the rest of their hunting party as he would normally have done. The one caveat, he wouldn’t stay until Ellen threw the last stragglers out. Castiel was currently praying Dean would not hold up his end of the bargain.  


“Tea?” Anything to appear normal and not like he was trying to throw her out of his house. It would ruin the effect when he eventually gave her the chalice if he was too hostile when she turned up unexpectedly.  


“That would be lovely. Black with a touch of honey, thank you. You still have that fascination with bees? I never saw another child so curious about them. Drove your uncle Cain mad with all your questions when we took you up to Harsech to see him during the Coeden summers.”  


She was trying, Castiel would give her that.  


Castiel checked the level of water in the kettle before hanging it back over the fire. As he did so, he smiled wistfully as he thought back to the days he had spent watching his uncle tend to the hives, collecting the honey and the beeswax,  


“Not much time nor the right location for beekeeping,” he replied trying to keep a softness to his voice that matched his memories. “But yes, I do still think they are the most interesting of creatures.” He clicked his fingers to bring another chair closer to the fire from where he could make the tea and talk to Naomi. “I don’t believe you came here for a reminisce over our summer trips to your brother’s estate, so why are you here?”  


Was that a blush on her face?  


“I…well…let me see…I…all right, you got me! I came here snooping. I was hoping to find you with this woman you’ve been courting. It’s still part of the gossip in society circles – that bauble you made. No-one believes your tale of a collaboration with Roché. Not one of my friends thinks it’s likely…” Naomi leaned in conspiratorially, “some of them even buy things from his shop. Don’t think that coming to the feast by yourself threw anyone off the scent either. It’s only made the members of my Salon more curious.”  


That definitely hadn’t been his intention. More scrutiny from the inner circle of Tân’s elite was not helpful.  


“They can be as curious as they like, there’s nothing to know.”  


“It’s not that brazen blonde at the Fellen Fech is it? The one that likes to think that because her mother married a hunter, she has a right to be one.”  


Castiel quirked an eyebrow at his mother. Was she really so oblivious that she couldn’t see what she was accusing Jo of was what she had done with his father?  


Naomi ignored him and continued, “It has been noticed how much time you’ve been spending there. Everyone knows that your…um…friend…practically lives there, but you’ve not been one to frequent such low-brow places. Something, or more correctly someone, must have made you change your mind? There’s no shame in being interested in a little dalliance with someone like that…but surely Castiel you must know that you can’t possibly consider going and tying yourself to someone like that?”  


Naomi’s remarks were way too close for comfort. If she’d figured out who had made Castiel change his mind about the place…well, that revelation was still to come. He breathed a sigh of relief when the kettle boiled, and he could be distracted for a couple of minutes preparing the tea.  


Unfortunately, Naomi was like a dog with a bone. After a contented sip of tea, she dived back into her favourite subject again. “It is that little blonde, isn’t it? That’s why she’s not here, she’s still working for her mother at the bar tonight. You’ll have to stop that, Castiel. Can’t have a Novak marrying a barmaid. Most things I can accept. That the Gods could have paired you with someone of a different social standing I could resign myself to – but there are limits, even for me…and I consider myself quite open-minded on these matters.”  


Castiel reversed his earlier prayer. Now would be the perfect time for his Anwyld to come bouncing through the door. It would serve Naomi right to see Dean charge across the room and throw himself into Castiel’s arms as if he hadn’t seen him in weeks instead of a few hours. Open-minded, indeed!  


“No. It’s not Jo. I am not courting, nor am I getting betrothed, or tied to any woman. How many more times do I need to tell you this? You and your friends can believe what you like. That piece was never destined for any woman.”  


Naomi snorted in disbelief, then took another sip of tea, searching Castiel’s face.  


He guessed she was searching for some indication that he was lying. She’d be out of luck. Every word Castiel had spoken was true, just not the whole truth. He couldn’t conceive of his highly traditional and very close-minded mother making the logical leap that if the torc was indeed a CalonRhodd that hadn’t been intended for a woman, then it must have been created for a man.  


“Very well, if you won’t tell me. I’m sure the secret will out in time on its own.” Naomi gave Castiel a pointed glare.  


Castiel sighed before taking a large gulp of his tea. “What did you really come here for? As pleasant as getting to know the new improved you is, I am guessing this is more than a social call.”  


“Well, how very perceptive of you, darling. Yes, I did come here – on Planta business. Zachariah thought it best that I come and ask you.”  


Castiel’s stomach lurched. Zachariah had sent Naomi to talk to him about Planta Gorllewin? Perhaps the old bastard was more intelligent, or maybe more paranoid than Castiel or Gabriel had given him credit for. With the most disdainful sneer he could manage, Castiel asked, “What is it that my erstwhile stepfather wants with me that’s about a Planta I no longer belong to – since you disowned me that is.”  


“Don’t be like that, Castiel. Zachariah has been concerned about the performance of the warriors and hunters lately. Not able to do their jobs correctly by all accounts – not one of them has been able to find one measly little wizard.”  


Thanks, brother, Castiel thought sourly. Why is it that you’ve disappeared and left me in yet another pile of rotting crap?  


“I’m still not quite making the connection with me. I can’t say that I know many wizards personally and I haven’t trained as a warrior or practised any of our ceremonial arts since…well, you know when.”  


Naomi tutted at him. “Now that’s not a problem is it – not for someone with such great Hudau and giftings as you. You’ll be back up to speed in no time at all. Besides, Zachariah understands you’re a little out of touch, but he wants to bring you back into the fold. See if having another strong hereditary warrior from one of the founding families will help encourage the lower ranks to pick up their game. Don’t stand there with your mouth open like that, Castiel. It’s most unsightly for an ulchewr.”  


Castiel clicked his mouth shut.  


“Be at the Great Hall by 7.00pm on Wednesday next. The meeting is at 7.30 for the whole Planta. Zachariah would like to meet with you before the meeting starts. Don’t be late. He does so hate it when people are late.” Naomi paused looking down into her empty cup. She swallowed before adding, “and it’s me that he takes it out on afterwards.”  


With that Naomi got up from her chair and swanned out the house, handing the cup off to Castiel at the door.  


Another unexpected turn of events that he had no idea what to do with, apart from attending the meeting – again. Only this time, everyone that had agreed to support his challenge would be there too. If he wanted to lessen the chance of someone letting the cat out of the bag when he turned up, he’d have to set Bobby, Dean, Sam, and Benny to work telling the others to expect Castiel to be there. Everyone on Castiel’s side had to play along with Zachariah at the meeting, so long as the Priffathro played nice.  


*************************************************************************************************  


Compared to all the stupid ideas that had ever been thought in the history of thinking, Cas’s plan had to rank as about the stupidest. Coming from Dean Winchester, that meant the idea was truly terrible. Dean had to find a tactful way of saying so. Except, tact wasn’t one of Dean’s strong points.  


He’d tossed and turned most of the night, unable to sleep. Cas’s slow, even breathing unable to lull him into rest like it had done every night since they had begun sharing a bed. In two days, Cas would be walking into the lion’s den. So far, nothing anyone had to say could dissuade him. Uffern, Benny had even suggested that it was the right thing to do. Benny had proposed that showing up would bolster support for Cas when he showed himself unafraid of Zachariah. At least Benny had the good grace to admit, when challenged by Sam, that they would need a back-up plan ready in case this was a trap for Cas. However, he’d also said that he hadn’t heard any rumours that Zachariah had any inkling what Cas was up to. That had to count in their favour, didn’t it? Dean prayed it would.  


Dean’s conscience wouldn’t allow him to simply let his misgivings go. He had to have one more go at persuading Cas not to go. They could come up with some plausible excuse that would save Naomi’s face. Not that Dean wished to protect her after what she had done to her son, but he would do it for Cas’s sake. Instinct told Dean that something had shifted between the two after Naomi’s last visit. Cas denied it, but there was a sadness in his face when he spoke of his mother that Dean had not seen previously. Of course, he could be barking up the wrong tree. After all, he’d been in Cas’s life for a couple of months. He had no idea how Castiel had felt about his mother before Gabriel’s return stirred everything up.  


Cas turned over and snuggled up to Dean, draping an arm lazily over Dean’s hips. Dean pressed a kiss to the top of Cas’s head. The morning after hadn’t been a thing for him. Dean had always been more of a fuck and leave kind of guy even if he hadn’t been paying for his partner’s time. The old Dean Winchester did not cuddle. Apparently, the newly betrothed Dean Winchester adored cuddling with Castiel. In such a short space of time, early morning snuggles as the first tendrils of light slipped through the thin coverings on the windows, had become his second favourite thing. The first was mind-blowing sex on just about any surface in the house, or Cas’s workshop. So sue him, Dean was a red-blooded male. He liked sex. With Cas, it had suddenly got a whole lot hotter. Unfortunately, sex wasn’t on the menu this morning. Cas needed to be at the shop early so that before he opened for the day, he could work on the chalice he was still insistent on giving Naomi. Dean needed to be out early too. Zachariah had decreed that whenever a manhunt was taking place, a hunter was to accompany the warrior platoon assigned to arrest the mark. Today, Dean was rostered to accompany Benny and his squad on a manhunt. Thankfully not for Gabriel.  


“C’mon Cas. Time to get up and at ‘em, sunshine!” Dean nudged Cas’s shoulder gently.  


Cas grumbled something unintelligible into Dean’s chest.  


“Seriously. If you get up now – I’ll even make you tea along with my coffee. If not, you’re on your own. Don’t wanna keep Benny waiting!”  


A very grumpy looking Cas lifted his head, squinting at Dean with eyes that stubbornly refused to open fully. “Did you say something about tea?”  


Dean ruffled Cas’s already messy bedhead. “I did. Gonna let go of me?” Dean looked at the arm still draped over him and bucked his hips.  


“Ugh!” Cas rolled onto his back. “I’m moving, I’m moving. Get me my tea – you promised!”  


The accompanying pout was adorable. So adorable that Dean was tempted to capture the bottom lip that was jutting out with his teeth and…and…and that was his cue to haul his ass out of bed before he started something they didn’t have time for – not if he wanted coffee.  


Dean set the fire going – manually because he couldn’t even start a fire with his pathetic Hudau and then set the coffee pot and the kettle over it to brew. He wandered back into the bedroom to find Cas was up preparing for the day ahead. He joined Cas by the small vanity unit and started his own ablutions.  


“I was thinking...about…Wednesday.”  


“Hmm,” Cas replied absentmindedly.  


“If you’re still determined to go through with this idiotic idea of attending Adler’s meeting, we need a plan.”  


“Uh-huh!”  


Maybe this was a bad idea. Sam had used this tactic on him often enough that Dean had thought it would work on Cas. Sam always managed to get him to agree to whatever Sam wanted when he tackled Dean first thing in the morning before coffee. Dean’s miscalculation was that Cas did mornings worse than he did. Dean wasn’t convinced Cas was hearing him at all.  


“You having a meeting with him, one to one before the main meeting? It’s suicidal. What if his plan is to capture you and show you off in chains as yet another Novak failure? What if he’s trying to lure Gabriel out of hiding and using you as bait?”  


That got Cas’s attention.  


“Gabriel? Bait? What? What are you on about, Dean?”  


Accepting defeat, Dean trudged through to the see how far along the coffee was and set Cas’s tea to brew. “Nothing. Nothing. Let’s grab a drink and we’ll talk later, ok.”  


He’d find some time during the hunt to sound Benny out. Cas wasn’t going to be the one to come up with a plan and, honestly, Dean already knew his Gefellflam was too stubborn for anyone to change his mind once he had made a decision. Dean would find a way to protect Cas from himself.  


Dean poured himself a coffee and Cas his tea. He pulled Castiel into a side hug as he handed him his wake-up juice.  


Cas gave him a peck on the cheek in thanks, wrapping his hands around the mug. He sniffed in the rich aroma and let out a contented sigh. The sign that he was finally becoming alert and ready to face the day.  


They chatted about nothing in particular while they drank. Shared heated kisses behind the closed front door. Then Cas left for the day, a dreamy smile plastered across his face.  


Dean pottered about the house tidying up, leaving everything looking as if only Cas lived there, before a respectable time after Cas had left, Dean sneaked out the door for his shift with Benny.  


**************************************************************************************************  


“You still think this is a trap, don’t you?”  


Dean, Bobby and Sam all nodded.  


Balthazar shrugged and held his hands up as if to say he didn’t have a clue. “I’m only here as moral support. Can’t attend the meeting and know squat about the workings of these things for you warriors. In the words of that marvellous cliché, I’m a lover, not a fighter!”  


Everyone sniggered at Balthazar’s attempt to lighten the atmosphere.  


“I wish you’d let us work it so that Benny was the one to show you to Adler’s private chambers,” Sam said gravely.  


“I get your concern. I do. But I can’t afford to show my hand to early. If this isn’t a trap but he’s suspicious we could give ourselves away if anyone not on our side works out that we’ve manipulated things to get Benny doing something he wouldn’t normally. It’d put Benny in danger unnecessarily.”  


There was a general consensus that Castiel had a point, but the general air of unease that he was going it alone with the power-hungry and paranoid Priffathro lingered.  


“How about a glass of wine? Some liquid courage…”  


“Don’t think that’s the best idea. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not…” Dean began. Before he could finish, Castiel had grabbed the bottle out of Balthazar’s hand and was fighting with the cork.  


Ever the diplomat, Sam suggested, “Why don’t we all have some.” He threw a warning glare at Bobby who detested wine because it wasn’t a real man’s drink. “That way between the five of us, no one has enough to dull their thinking or slow their reaction times.”  


“Whatever!” Dean snapped snatching the bottle out of Castiel’s hand and giving it back to Balthazar to open. “One small drink then the three of us,” he pointed at himself, Sam and Bobby, “head off in the direction of the Fellen Fech, where everyone will expect us to come from. Meantime you and Balthazar head straight to the Great Hall. Deal?”  


The five men each took their gulp of wine and set off in their respective directions.  


“Balthy, would you do me a favour? It’s a big ask, but I need you to get some information from one of Naomi’s cronies. Preferably one of the closest to her. I gather from her that one or two have the audacity to be customers of yours. I…” This was harder than he’d anticipated. A lump had lodged itself in his throat making his voice crack at the edges. “Naomi said something strange at the end of her last visit. I’m not sure she was aware that she said it really. It was more of a throwaway comment, but I can’t shake the feeling there’s more to it. She hinted that when things don’t go Zachariah’s way, he takes his frustration out on her. If…if…if it’s true, I can’t leave her in his clutches. Not with me about to challenge him.”  


Balthazar looked like he was going to make a scathing remark about Naomi Adler not deserving. Why when she had abandoned him because her latest husband didn’t want the burden of another man’s child would her son want to protect her? It was the question that Castiel would have asked him if their positions had been reversed. Balthazar obviously thought better of it because instead, he suggested, “if there is evidence that he’s abusing her, it would strengthen your cause. You could use it against him if we get evidence. I’ll do it…for your sake…not hers.”  


“Thank you, old friend.”  


Neither said another word until they reached the street before the Great Hall of Planta Gorllewin. Now that they were away from the hunters and Castiel had said his piece, Balthazar’s concern was writ large over his face.  


“Be careful, Castiel. The gods have blessed you abundantly with wisdom, strength, Hudau and courage. You have the partner the Branwen and Aerten chose for you. Do not take these things for granted. I know I play the dilatant and am not well versed in the ways of the warrior or the seer, but I do know that complacency and forgetting that visions are only one possible outcome have been the undoing of many honourable men before you. If Dean can’t stop you from doing this, then I stand no chance, but please, if you must go in there alone, do not take any unnecessary risks. I beg you, Castiel – for Dean if for no-one else.”  


Castiel regarded Balthazar’s concerned countenance with sorrow. He patted his friend’s shoulder shaking his head in wonder at how his friend had been born a craftsman, not a politician or a warrior. If…no…when he succeeded, Castiel would be sure to rectify that situation. He gave Balthazar the only answer the situation demanded, “I promise to be on my guard. As for risk-taking? We both know that that this whole evening is a huge risk with too many possible outcomes to even bother trying to figure them all out. Now go, please and find the truth about my mother.”  


Swallowing the lump in his throat larger than the mountain of Eisedd Fawr, and the violent roiling in his stomach, Castiel left Balthazar to go meet his stepfather. On his way, he said a silent prayer to Aerten and to Don that they would be on his side. He hoped that the offering he’d made earlier in the day to Aeron would stave off the need for his reapers to collect Castiel’s soul and transport it to Annwn.  


“Master Novak,” the guard at the entrance bowed slightly in deference to the uchelwr. “I had been told to expect you this evening. Please wait in the lobby, another will be along shortly to escort you to the Priffathro’s chambers.”  


Castiel shivered as he walked through the door. Not at the cold, the lobby area had two large fireplaces both blazing to ward off the chill of the evening air, but because the plan was now in motion. Castiel paced the empty lobby impatiently.  


“Master Novak!”  


Castiel almost jumped with relief at the booming Dyfrian voice. He was glad that they’d gone behind his back and arranged for Benny to be his escort. Castiel quickly collected himself and approached Benny with an outstretched hand as one would someone they had only just met. “Good to meet you, Mr…”  


“Lafitte. Benny Lafitte, sir. Now if you’d follow me the Priffathro is waiting for you.”  


Castiel trailed after Benny. What had seemed to take forever when he was a child, walking the hallways from the private chambers to the public spaces, was now a matter of two or three minutes through forgotten corridors. If his memory was correct his father had these corridors lined with paintings, silhouettes, and other remembrances of the Novak family. Zachariah had stripped the walls. The personal touch of Charles Novak replaced by the impersonal coldness of Zachariah Adler. The Novak family erased from the Planta building.  


“He didn’t have the balls to destroy them. What you’re remembering is sequestered in one of the furthest storerooms in the dungeons,” Benny confided, reading Castiel’s mind. “Game face on, Castiel Novak. I pray that it please the gods that I see you in the Great Hall at the meeting.” With that, Benny’s friendly demeanour vanished to be replaced by the stony-faced warrior doing his duty. When they reached their destination, Benny greeted the two Breniol standing outside Zachariah’s door and left Castiel standing before them without another word.  


So far, so good. “Castiel No…”  


“We know,” the guard on the left interrupted.  


“Go on in. It’s not like he isn’t expecting you,” the other added sounding bored.  


Out of an ingrained sense of politeness, not respect for Zachariah, Castiel knocked and waited. Instead of the verbal invitation he’d been expecting, the door to Zachariah’s office opened revealing the man himself with a smarmy smile on his face.  


“Castiel, my boy, great to see you again. Come in, come in. Welcome!”  


Now Castiel was concerned. The greeting was too effusive to mean anything good. Warily, he stepped into the lion’s den. Naomi was sitting at Zachariah’s desk a tea service sitting in front of her. Something about the way she was sitting told Castiel that she wasn’t there of her own accord. Protecting Naomi suddenly became the foremost thing in Castiel’s mind. He could bide his time and see where Zachariah was going with this apparent change of heart about him. Could it be that Zachariah was naïve enough to think that he could win Castiel’s loyalty with a few well-chosen words and playing happy families over a cup of tea and in so doing prevent him from joining forces with Gabriel? That appeared to be exactly Zachariah’s game plan, one that Castiel stoutly refused to play, much to Castiel’s misfortune.  


************************************************************************************************  


Dean jostled his way through the crowded room. He’d deliberately not turned up early. Being at the Hall more than five minutes before a meeting started wasn’t Dean’s style, nor was it Bobby’s. So, he’d arrived when he usually would, prepared to fight his way through till he found the vantage point he wanted. He’d been in a foul mood all day and not solely because Cas refused to listen to reason. Dean couldn’t pinpoint what else was causing the bad temper, but idiots who wouldn’t move when he asked nicely weren’t helping. Undeterred, Dean resorted to judicious use of the elbow to encourage stubborn assholes to shift.  


“You took your sweet time, cher!” Benny teased when a grumpy faced Dean reached his side.  


“Funny! I’m taking the fact that you’re standing here to mean Phase 1 at least started ok.”  


“He got to the room ok. I hung around out of sight near Adler’s chambers for as long as I could. Didn’t hear any commotions. Haven’t heard of any ruckus since then either. Guessing they didn’t kill each other…”  


“Yet,” Dean finished Benny’s sentence. Dean was a firm believer in the adage that no news was good news. So, why did it do nothing to ease the weight on his chest and the prickling feeling on his skin?  


Adler was late. The crowd had begun to get restless. There were murmurs of drinking time being lost to useless meetings that even the so-called ‘boss’ couldn’t be bothered to show up to. The uneasy feeling multiplied in Dean’s chest. This was one of those occasions when no news didn’t feel like good news.  


“Is it too late to send you out back to the private quarters to check on things,” he whispered to Benny.  


“Afraid so,” came Benny’s gloomy reply. “I’m not on duty anymore. Gotta wait it out.”  


“But,” Dean objected his need to know that Cas was unharmed outweighing his good sense, “If nothing had happened, then Cas’d be out of there by now and Adler would be here. You know he’d never miss an opportunity to enforce that he’s running the show.”  


“Adler will be here – no matter how the meeting went. You know that. Cas wouldn’t do anything reckless without back-up – and his back-up is out here. Wait it out, brother. Wait it out.”  


Dean knew Benny was correct. However, waiting sucked. The minutes ticked by slowly, not only for Dean judging by the growing unrest around him. He tried to see his way to the back of the room, but there were too many other tall hunters and warriors for him to get a clear view of the doors to the chamber. Judging by how packed the room still was though, the doors were probably barred preventing any disgruntled member of the Planta from leaving.  


When the off-stage commotion started, Dean wished that the interminable waiting had continued. Zachariah strode onto the stage, dragging Cas with him. His gut instantly told Dean that somehow, Zachariah had used black magic to bind his beloved Cas’s Hudau. The way Cas moved was so unlike him, and it had nothing to do with the manacles on his wrists.  


Reaching the centre of the raised platform, Adler turned to face the crowd a sneer on his face. “Good evening, gentlemen. Thank you for waiting. I had a little trouble with my recalcitrant stepson, as you can see. Now, unfortunately, before I get to this evening’s business, I must address Castiel’s behaviour. I thought it would be a salutary lesson for anyone who wishes to criticise how I run my household, or for that matter, this Planta.”  


Zachariah turned back to Cas. He spoke to him, too quiet for Dean to hear. Cas’s head moved in a small gesture of assent. He stood perfectly still his eyes directed to the floor as Zachariah took off his jacket, placed it on his throne and then began rolling up his sleeves.  


Facing Cas, one hand on his shoulder, Zachariah addressed the assembly again. “I invited Castiel here to make amends. I wished to mend the fences broken when I bested Dick Roman and married Castiel’s mother. He was a difficult child then, unwilling to accept his place in my family. The years have been hard on his mother after the exceptionally difficult decision I came to. However, after seeing the upstanding citizen of Tân he has become and being worn down by my wife’s pleas to have her only living son back, I issued an olive branch. But,” Zachariah placed his hands around Castiel’s neck, “instead of graciously accepting my apology and offer for him to come back into the fold, this ingrate attacked me and accused me of all manner of unconscionable deeds against my dear w…”  


The lightning bolt that flashed across the dais at the moment sent Adler staggering backwards, forcing him to loosen his grip on Cas’s neck. Dean craned his head up to the side of the platform to see where it had come from. Surely, Gabriel hadn’t returned?  


Without him realising it, Dean’s feet were moving. There were no niceties this time. He shoved people aside in his haste to reach Cas. Cas was doubled over, hands holding his neck, his chest visible heaving as he gasped for air. Dean had to be by his side. Before he could deal with Adler, he had to check that Cas was going to be all right.  


“Zachariah! By Don and Beli! What in Uffern are you doing to my son? He has done nothing to you these past 10 years.”  


Dean may not have heard the voice before but, like nearly every hunter or warrior in the Great Hall, he knew who it belonged to. Dean stopped. He tore his eyes away from Castiel to where the voice had come from. Naomi Adler. Naomi let another lightning bolt fly, keeping Adler pinned down on the other side of the raised platform from Cas. She began advancing on her husband. Like one of the Cwn Annwn, Dean thought. He dragged his eyes back to his betrothed willing his feet to begin moving again. Another unexpected figure was on the dais. Balthazar was kneeling at Cas’s side, one hand on his back rubbing small soothing circles. By the incline of his head, Balthazar was talking to Cas, hopefully keeping him calm. The rest of the Great Hall had been stunned into silence.  


“Bobby,” Dean yelled over his shoulder, “Don’t just stand there! Do something! Benny, you too!”  


“What, ya idjit?” Bobby shouted back as he began pushing through the crowd with Benny in his wake.  


“Naomi – help her? I’m…I’m…I’m…” What Dean wanted to say was, I’m going to help Cas. Except that wasn’t what came out of his mouth. His original plan to save Cas from himself had blown up with the unexpected interruption from Naomi. Dean’s conscious thoughts when he’d started racing for the stage were for Cas’s welfare. His subconscious knew that now that was best left for Balthazar. Cas had a formal Challenge to launch. After what they had witnessed other members of the Planta might be more willing to openly support Cas when the time came. Dean had an opportunity to garner their loyalty if he could make them question Zachariah’s fitness to lead.  


Dean ran up the steps two at a time. A sideways glance told him that Sam had joined Benny and Bobby in approaching Naomi. Uriel was rushing from the upper viewing gallery to protect his superior. Naomi was in mama bear mode still intent on knocking Adler senseless with her Hudau. With Naomi on the attack, Dean had no concerns that the other three could handle Uriel quickly enough to get Naomi safe before Adler could mount his counterattack. He was right. Sam and Benny held Uriel back, while Bobby attempted to calm Naomi down. In a short space of time during which Dean felt utterly helpless, the situation was back under control. Uriel had ushered Zachariah back to his quarters. Naomi was sitting on the side of the stage, Cas’s head in her lap gently stroking his hair while Balthazar, Bobby, Benny and Sam looked on.  


Dean found his mouth opening before he could stop it. “By the Gods. Don’t know about you, but this is not how I expected this evening to go. I take it as a matter of great pride to be a member of the noble Planta Gorllewin. The Winchesters may be hunters, not the great soldiers that I know many of you here today are, but we are all still comrades in arms. I was brought up to believe that a man’s first duty was to his partner and family, then to Neffroen, and then the Planta. It is not, perhaps, all that surprising that a clan made up of men of war would be the one also subject to the most unrest. Yet, before the events of twenty years ago, there had been a significant period where the rulers of the Planta had been men anyone would be glad to follow. Tonight, I am ashamed to say that I have followed a man willing to behave as Zachariah Adler has done tonight. I wonder what would make a wife of ten years turn on her husband like that – in one evening? Please believe me, I’m not advocating anything here tonight. It’s not my place to do so. I’m no great thinker, no strong leader, not even got much in the way of Hudau. What I am is a simple hunter who believes that family is important. Please go home to your loved ones and take care of them. As you do, though, please consider what you have seen tonight and how proud you are to stand behind our current Prifatthro.”  


Silence enveloped the Great Hall. Dean became too aware of all the eyes on him. He resisted the urge to run to Cas’s side, scoop him up and carry him to the nearest healer. Steeling himself, he walked as commandingly as he could to where all the others had gathered. He commanded Balthazar and Sam to see to the two Novaks, while Bobby and Benny remained with him until everyone else had left the building.  


In the early hours of the morning, Dean slipped into bed beside Cas. That niggle poking him for the whole of the day? To Dean’s dismay it hadn’t abated one bit, despite the fact that Zachariah had shown his true character and given them the ability to show the Planta how loathsome a man he was and so unfit to hold his position. Cas would be fine after a night’s sleep. His neck might be bruised for a while, but they could be treated easily enough with some ointment from one of the healers. Anna had assured Dean that the enchantment Zachariah had used to get Cas to become compliant was mild and would wear off in another few hours once the tonic that had been in the tea Adler had given Cas had worn off. Dean’s speech had hit home with the Planta. Many more of them would flock to Cas when the Challenge was announced. In the most surprising turn of events, his mistrust of Cas’s mother had been proven incorrect. Dean was happy to be wrong, for Cas’s sake. So, what was bugging him?  


**************************************************************************************************  


Where the hell was Dean? He was supposed to have been home over an hour ago. Castiel hated to be that clingy spouse but after the events of three days ago, tensions were running high. Zachariah had supporters. After his speech imploring the Planta to take a long hard look at the man that they had allowed to rule over it for the last decade, Dean had made himself more of a target for the Priffathro’s ire than before.  


Castiel pulled his boots on, promising himself that he would find Dean drinking at the Fellen Fech. He’d been on an afternoon hunting trip for rabbits and wildfowl. Afterwards, he would have rounded off the day with an illicit delivery to Ellen and stayed for a drink, then forgot the time. That was a plausible explanation. If he kept telling himself that, he’d believe it. Until he got to the bar and…No! Castiel was not going to allow the disturbing thoughts to get uppermost in his mind. He shrugged on his jacket as he bolted out the front door into the surprisingly warm late spring night.  


Nothing in the cobbled streets was out of place. The guards paid no more attention to him than any other passer-by. Gradually Castiel started to relax. The version of events he’d told himself to calm his anxiety increasingly becoming the most likely solution. His breathing evened out and his pace slowed. Would it be so bad to join Dean and the others for a drink once he got there? He enjoyed the company of Dean’s family and friends. Spending time with them was something he’d have to get more used to when he and Dean were handfasted. Who could blame him for wanting Dean all to himself? No-one. None would begrudge them time alone either. But, as he reminded himself, there was no place in a loving relationship for jealousy, because Castiel was jealous at the easy way Dean drew friends and family around him and how they responded to him.  


Dean wouldn’t be jealous if Castiel spent time with Gabriel or Naomi. He was glad that they were now on the same page about his mother. She had made mistakes. If Naomi was willing to take responsibility for those past actions and try to rebuild a relationship with her youngest son, then both Dean and Castiel now in agreement. Castiel owed it to her to allow her to make amends.  


Castiel chuckled at the antics of a couple of drunks stumbling away from the Hare and Hounds, and the two young lovers who thought they were being so stealthy, but were hopelessly obvious, sneaking into a back alley across the road from him. Under other circumstances and about ten years younger, Castiel wondered if that would have been him and Dean. The thought brought a wide grin to his face. He started to whistle, looking forward to a tankard or two of ale and some jokes with friends followed by hot sex with his betrothed when he eventually got him back home.  


“Castiel! Over here!” Charlie waved at him from across the bar.  


Castiel weaved his way through the crowd, apologising profusely when he bumped elbows with anyone.  


“You waiting for Dean?” Charlie asked shuffling along the bench seat to make room for Castiel.  


“He’s…he’s not here?”  


“No.”  


Jo piped up, “Until I saw you come in, I thought he was with you.”  


Castiel cocked his head to one side, narrowing his eyes at her. “Come again?”  


“We had a bumper afternoon right out of the traps. Got our quota and then some - fast. Dean said there was no point wasting time out there when our job was done, so he took off right away with his part of the quota catch. We spent some time sitting by the stream watching life drift by for a while and prepared the…um…extra…before coming back. Not seen Dean since…”  


Castiel had never seen the colour drain from Bobby’s face like that. Bobby Singer may have been a grouch, may have disliked taking unnecessary risks, but there was little under the sun that could scare Bobby Singer. If Bobby was scared, Castiel was suddenly petrified.  


“Maybe he’s gone back to HIS? See Sam?”  


Castiel shook his head. “Well, I guess it’s possible that Dean’s gone to the Winchester’s cottage. Don’t see why though. After Wednesday’s meeting, Sam said he would be at the temple the rest of the week.”  


“Dean wouldn’t be seen dead at the temple unless someone dragged him there kicking and screaming,” Bobby mused. “Balls!”  


Castiel desperately didn’t want to voice his concern out loud. If he did it made the possibility real. It couldn’t be real. He couldn’t cope if there he allowed himself to acknowledge the possibility that Zachariah’s faithful had grabbed Dean and were looking to…  


“We need to find him. Now.”  


“I know one place he might be,” Charlie volunteered sheepishly as if just by mentioning that she knew one of Dean’s boltholes she would be betraying Dean’s trust. “It’s a place he goes when…when…well…I stumbled over it by accident, because I went there to think after things…you know…went south with Dorothy and I found him there. Turns out we’d used the same thinking spot for years but never been there at the same time…Yeah, I know I’m rambling. I do that when I’m nervous. So, we sending out the search party?”  


“No. It’s too soon to panic. If he’s gone to think, then let him. He’ll come around soon enough once his head is on straight. He always does,” Bobby counselled tugging at the straggly ends of his beard.  


Castiel regarded the old hunter closely. His eyes told a totally different story to the calm he was exuding in front of Jo and Charlie. Bobby’s eyes held a look that said he was already worried about what had happened to Dean.  


“Cas – you go home. I’ll get word to Sam to let us know if Dean’s at back at his. If he hasn’t turned up by his shift tomorrow, then we’ll go hunting for him.”  
Castiel knew Bobby was right. Dean wouldn’t thank them for raising the alarm when all he’d done was take some time for himself. It was just that this was so unlike the Dean he’d known since after Pamela had done the reading for them. That Dean had hardly been able to keep his hands off Castiel had taken every opportunity to hang out with him, to be alone with Castiel.  


The sane explanation for Dean’s mysterious disappearance was that he was taking some time to think about how far he had come. When Castiel reflected on the other changes in Dean since that auspicious afternoon, the changes in Dean’s behaviour outside his PDAs for Castiel had been remarkable. Dean was growing into the strategist and leader that had been prophesied. In the same way that Castiel had needed to make adjustments believe he could be the leader that Planta Gorllewin and Neffroen needed, so did Dean about readying himself to become Castiel’s trusted consort. This reasoning for Dean’s vanishing act had to be the right one.  
Castiel sat down next to Charlie. “Better get another round in then!”  


Jo beckoned at Ash, who was loitering at the end of the bar. He saluted her acknowledging the silent request, then sauntered over with another jug of ale and an extra tankard for Castiel.  


**************************************************************************************************  


Charlie was never very good at following orders. She followed her gut. She also lived with the misguided belief that she was far stealthier than she was. Dean guessed it was Charlie. Whoever it was they were doing a poor job at creeping around in this disused part of the gatehouse. Dean could tell that they took short strides and, although noisy, the footsteps suggested that they weren’t that big. There were worse people it could be than Charlie.  


Still, he kept silent just in case it wasn’t her. If he stayed hunched up in the shadows maybe they’d walk straight past him and never know that anyone else had been hiding there. The lamps from the city’s gate shed enough light through the slits in the wall that you could pick your way through without needing a torch. If you were in this part of the city at such a late hour, chances were, you didn’t want to be found out. Dean couldn’t see any flickers of light in the direction of the approaching footsteps. Dean never used any other means of light and he knew Charlie didn’t either. That didn’t mean that it was Charlie come to find him.  


“Dean Winchester! I know you’re up here.” Dean didn’t move. “Ow…that hurt…aghh, my shin…what the? Uffern! What in the name of all the Goddesses happened up here? Looks like a tornado has ripped through it but left the walls standing. That…or…some idiot who can’t control their Hudau unleashed a havoc spell. Oooh…I wonder if that means there’s a dead body around here…awesome! Actually, kinda gross too!”  


Dean rolled his eyes, despite the effect being lost given he was in the dark and hiding from his best friend. No. There were no dead bodies up here for Charlie to trip over. Nor had any spell gone wrong. Obviously, there’d been no freak weather conditions confined solely to the gatehouse either. The mess Charlie was none too sneakily picking her way through had been caused by one gullible moron by the name of Dean Winchester. No doubt Charlie would nickname him Hurricane Dean when she found out.  


“Huh? Guess I was wrong about Dean. Well silly me! Now I’m here might as well sit and watch the world go by while I wait for the vengeful spirit of that poor dead idiot to come to get me. Must be one heck of a story to that spell gone wrong. Hope they tell it to me before they drag me off to Annwn with them.”  


Charlie would sit there all night if she had to. Dean wasn’t ready to admit that he’d been duped by the Novaks. Stalemate! The outcome of this battle of wills would come down to how long Dean could listen to Charlie prattling on. From bitter experience, Dean knew his friend could run her mouth all night long with barely a pause to take breaths if she wanted to. Luring a temperamental Dean out of hiding would be one of those occasions.  


Dean had to win this battle though. As furious as he was, he couldn’t betray Cas’s trust. One bad deed might deserve another, but there was more at stake than Dean’s wounded pride. The Planta had been shown a side of Adler that they’d never seen before. While members could tolerate him being a buffoon, fewer would see his treatment of Cas as honourable, and fewer than that would still have respect for him knowing that he abused his wife. It wasn’t vanity to think that his inspiring speech had been the right thing to do and would benefit Cas when the time came for him to challenge. That time would surely be sooner rather than later now. Charlie could be trusted to keep her mouth shut when it mattered – there were secrets of her own that Dean knew Charlie would take to her grave. Yet, Dean couldn’t tell her that one of Cas’s brothers was still alive and had convinced Castiel to challenge Adler. All Charlie knew was the spark between them had been there after Dean bought the ceremonial knife from Cas and things had grown from there. What she didn’t know about Dean and Cas kept Charlie safe. It was better for Charlie that way.  


So, for he wasn’t sure how many hours, Dean sat scrunched up in a corner of the gatehouse occasionally pressing his hands over his ears to block out Charlie’s prattle. Thank Cernowain that hunting had imbued him with a patience not part of his innate personality. Eventually, a dejected Charlie left. Dean felt no joy at deceiving his friend and winning their ‘battle of the stubborn’, although he was still convinced it was the right thing to do to protect her.  


Peeking out the tiny slit in the wall, Dean observed that the sun had yet to come up. The city streets would still be quiet enough for him to slip through them unobserved. He wasn’t ready to go back to either house yet. He didn’t want Sam’s pity or insistence on talking things through. No way was he ready to face Cas yet. Bobby and Ellen wouldn’t be much better than Sam. Bobby would call him an idjit and slap him on the back of the head. Ellen would flick her dishcloth at him and make him join in the morning rituals for preparing the Fellen Fech for the day, then ambush him into a discussion while they were working together. There wasn’t anywhere else he could go in the city. Benny was a good friend, but Dean would never impose on him and Andrea.  


Inspiration struck. Dean crept along to the machine room with its pulleys and levers. He observed the guards in the attached wardroom absorbed in playing cards instead of watching for anyone approaching the city walls. He’d have more problems with the guards on the parapet wall spotting him. No-one except the wall guards were supposed to be in the gatehouse building. If he timed it for when they next changed watch, Dean supposed he could climb down into the water without being seen.  


Dean shifted back into the shadows crouching behind one of the largest mechanisms. He didn’t get too close though in case the guards had to lower the drawbridge. How long since the last shift change? Dean dreaded having timed his escape the city plans wrong. If the parapet guards had only recently changed shift he’d be in for a long wait, meaning that the usual early morning traffic would have begun to pick up and his chances of getting out without explaining himself would reduce wildly. It was too humiliating to explain why he was effectively running away. If he decided that getting out was too risky, he’d have the equally unappealing option of staying put until it got dark again or, running the gauntlet of getting back out onto the city and on with his day without being spotted. Providence was with Dean, for which he thanked Cernowain, and he didn’t have to wait too long until he heard the clamour and the heavy footfall of the shift change.  


Dean shimmied down the thick chains used to raise and lower the gate. He caught his breath for a moment, then carefully lowered himself down the embankment determined to slip into the water without a splash. Unfortunately, he lost his footing on the last couple of yards. The resulting splash sounded deafening to Dean. He held his breath, holding as still as possible waiting to see if anyone reacted. Thankfully, no one did. Taking a large gulp of air, Dean slipped beneath the surface of the water and swam across and a quarter of the way around the moat before dragging himself up onto the opposite bank. He flopped onto his back gasping for air. When he’d regained his composure, Dean got to his feet and trekked off into the thickest part of the forest where the hunters hardly ever ventured.  


*********************************************************************************************  


Castiel looked up hopefully as the store door opened. He tried to keep a look of disappointment off his face when he saw that once again it wasn’t Dean.  


“Charlie? What are you doing here?”  


“I was going to ask if there’d been any news, but your face when you saw it was me gave me the answer.”  


“He didn’t come home. He didn’t go back to his old place – I went there after leaving the bar. There was no light. No-one answered the door either. Surprised the neighbours didn’t call for the guard, I was knocking & shouting so loudly in case he’d fallen asleep. Went back first thing before opening the store. Sam said he hasn’t seen Dean since Thursday morning. He’d assumed he was at work or with me – they weren’t rostered on together the back end of the week. I don’t normally open on a Sunday, but I couldn’t sit in the house doing nothing. But I don’t know what else to do. Benny says they won’t mount a search for him until he’s been gone more than 48hours.”  


Charlie blanched. Collecting herself, Charlie threw herself over the counter and enveloped Castiel in a bone-crushing hug. “I…I know Bobby said not to…but after we’d finished up, I did go to that hiding place I mentioned. My gut told me Dean was there. Either my gut was wrong, which by the way it never is, or Dean doesn’t want to be found. What’s happened? Everything was going so well. Bobby filled me in on some stuff. He said that despite a few unexpected happenings, the meeting at the Great Hall ended up being good for your…er…Challenge? Bobby also told me that when everything went sideways in there, Dean really stepped up like Missouri and Pamela said he would. He wouldn’t flip out like this over standing up in front of a crowd. Well, he might for an hour or so while he had a freak-out, but he’d calm down and come back to us with that signature Winchester bounce in his bowlegs and the twinkle in his eye. Um…better let you deal with that.”  


A couple were standing in front of the shop window, hand in hand so close together you would have a job sliding a piece of paper between them. Castiel’s heart lurched. It didn’t take a genius to work out they were staring at the display of courting gifts that he and Balthazar had whipped up with a large helping of Hudau. Castiel had told that story so much as a cover for Dean’s torc that Balthazar had declared that it needed to become a reality. He had a similar display inside his store nestled among the accessory displays.  


“Thanks, Charlie. You can grab a cup of tea out back if you’d like? If you’ve nowhere else to be that is?” Having Charlie around would help, giving Castiel someone to talk to between customers and, from the looks of it, staying would keep Charlie calm too.  


Seeing success for the joint collection with Balthazar should have given Castiel a sense of pride. The sale to the young couple may have been small, but it was the fifth between the two stores in less than a week. Nonetheless, whatever satisfaction Castiel gleaned from that triumph was diminished by Dean’s disappearing act. When his customers left Castiel poked his head around the workshop door. Charlie was curled up in the corner by the fire with tea brewing and a copy of the latest copper cridde romance novel. Castiel would bet that the words were dancing before her eyes. Charlie had a mask of complete self-reliance as if nothing ever really got to her. She was the type that whatever life threw at her, she brushed it all off with her quick wit in public before retiring to lick her wounds in private. Dean ignoring her would cut deep. Before Castiel, Sam had told him that Dean was more likely to talk about his problems with Charlie than with Sam. Not that Dean and talking was a regular occurrence, but when the need arose, Charlie was Dean’s got to.  


“Hey, Charlie! Got the store back to ourselves. That tea ready? We can take our mugs back out and chat until anyone else comes in. I could sure use the company.”  


Charlie marked her place in the novel. She placed it carefully back in her bag before pouring tea and honey for two. She whistled a cheerful tune while she poured it. “You were going to tell me what happened before we were so…rudely…interrupted.”  


“Of course, except…Charlie, there isn’t anything to tell. He was worried before the meeting at the Great Hall, rightly as it turns out. Mother rescued me from Zachariah’s grip. There was a commotion as Bobby, Benny, and Sam dealt with her, Uriel, and Zachariah. Balthazar was helping me. Dean got up on stage asking everyone present to take a hard look at who was ruling the Planta and think about whether he was the right person for the job…” Castiel got this far away look in his eyes as he recalled looking up from where he was kneeling on the dais gasping for air and seeing Dean front and centre commanding the crowd. “He was amazing, Charlie. Everything that the Seers said he would be.”  


Charlie elbowed him playfully in the ribs. “Yeah, save that look for when you two are ALONE!!! Gross…” Charlie pretended to stick two fingers down her throat and retch.  


Castiel cleared his throat, as a forlorn look crept across his face. Bobby might have Charlie in on enough to give her context, but Castiel doubted he’d told her everything. Castiel assumed that there were still things Charlie didn’t know about Castiel and his upcoming Challenge. He needed to be careful he didn’t say too much, even if it was in praise of his astounding consort. “Right…yes…um…where was I? Oh, Dean did his bit. Uriel reappeared and closed the meeting officially. Everyone left. All of us ended up in Bobby’s war room - that bit I think you remember. Dean & I went home using our usual approach not to be detected. Thursday and Friday went by as normal. Dean was his usual over-affectionate self – I’ll uh…spare you the details. The rest you know. Bobby and Jo swear he was his usual self until they parted ways. I…” Castiel took a second to compose himself. “I don’t understand, Charlie. Why wouldn’t he want to be found? If I’d annoyed him in any way, why not talk to me about it?”  


“This is Dean we’re talking about – the Dean Winchester that doesn’t do feelings or emotions? But that doesn’t sound right? If you’d done or said something he didn’t like, he’d ignore it and act as if nothing had happened – not run away and hide.”  


Charlie began biting the knuckle of her index finger.  


Castiel didn’t like the look of that. “What is it, Charlie?”  


Charlie shook her head vigorously, red curls bouncing around like russet leaves tossed about in the storm. “Nothing. Worried is all.” The weak grin she mustered didn’t do much to convince Castiel, but finding Dean was more important than playing twenty questions with Charlie.  


“Got to go, Charlie! Please, would you tell Sam and Bobby that I’ve taken a trip out to see Kali at Ynyslas, and that Balthazar is coming with me? They’ll know what that means.”  


Castiel began shutting up shop at breakneck speed, ushering Charlie out the door before the full-scale interrogation could begin. An avenging angel couldn’t have looked more imposing than Castiel as he stormed through the streets to Balthazar’s. He hopped impatiently from foot to foot as Balthazar attempted to finish up with an indecisive customer.  


“Shut up shop!” Castiel yelled the second the door swung shut. “Find us two swift horses for the day and meet me at the gatehouse. We’re taking a trip to the countryside to visit a certain witch and her troublesome cat.”  


“Whoa, hold up a second!” Balthazar shouted, preventing Castiel from leaving. “Why are we making this house call? I distinctly remember when I first found the good witch, you were very clear that you would never go with me to avoid any suspicions. What’s changed?”  


Castiel’s brow puckered in irritation. His body twitching with the need to move and do, not stay still and flap his gums.  


“The interference we prayed hadn’t taken place? The one someone swore they didn’t do? They did! Dean didn’t come to mine or to Sam’s last night. News from the Planta is that neither Uriel nor Zachariah want his head on a platter - yet. Charlie thinks he’s hiding somewhere in the city – most likely at a place they both go to think when things get overwhelming. She won’t tell me where that is, but she claims she was there last night, and Dean wouldn’t come out and speak with her.”  


“Slow down, Cassie. Take a breath. Let’s think about this a little more clearly shall we? I am going to shut the store, but we’re not going anywhere other than your place – unless we need to stop for wine or whiskey on the way. Barging in on our witch friend is going to do what exactly?  


Castiel scratched his head, sending his already messy hair into even more random spikes. “It’s something to do, Balthazar. I can’t sit at home doing nothing.”  


“And that,” Balthazar added as he turned the sign on the door to ‘Closed’, “is not what we’re going to do. We are going to get drunk and talk. You know, chances are we’ll be halfway through the first bottle when Dean will come flouncing through the door as if nothing’s happened. I promise, Cassie, that if he’s not back by tomorrow morning, we’ll go take a trip to Ynyslas.”  


Castiel knew Balthazar was right. Everyone who told him Dean would come around soon enough was right, weren’t they? So, why did the waiting have to suck so badly? Perhaps because Dean disappearing when Gabriel’s potion wore off hinted at Dean not having feelings for Castiel?  


**************************************************************************************************  


“I’d prefer if we had this conversation face to face – you know with you in human form?”  


The ginger tom studiously ignored Castiel as it licked its paw and began washing its face.  


Castiel turned to Kali who was impassively watching the two brothers. “It wouldn’t be my place to tell you what to do, nor how you should behave. A witch of your standing knows what is best for their protection.”  


Kali arched a well-groomed eyebrow at Castiel.  


The cat continued with its ablutions.  


“What Castiel here is trying, albeit appallingly,” Balthazar scowled at Castiel, “to say is that he hopes that a renowned practitioner of the high magical and healing arts would have wards in place around their property to avoid unwelcome attention.”  


“Indeed,” Castiel said stiffly, “I doubt you want just anyone rocking up here unannounced.”  


Irritatingly, the cat appeared to be paying no attention to the growing tension around it.  


“You did!”  


Balthazar squeezed himself in between Castiel and Kali. “We’ve come here on a delicate matter that I believe all parties,” Balthazar flicked his eyes to the tomcat then back to Kali, “would appreciate being handled in secret.”  


Balthazar knew him too well, Castiel mused as Balthazar held up a finger over his shoulder warning him not to jump back into the conversation. Castiel kept his mouth clamped shut.  


“Whether I have or not is irrelevant in this instance. What is, however, relevance is the matter of why the discussion needs to take place in private at all.”  


Before Balthazar could speak for him again, Castiel shoved him aside lunging quickly for the oblivious cat and grabbing it by the scruff of its neck. The cat hissed in annoyance at being picked up but hung limply in Castiel’s grip. Castiel closed the distance between himself and Kali, holding the disgruntled cat in front of her face.  


“Did he tell you who he wanted that potion for? I’m assuming you’re the ‘friend’ who so helpfully made it for him. Well, it’s backfired. His little plan to help things along without telling anyone else about it hasn’t worked out so well. So, now I need him to fix it!” As he growled out the last sentence, Castiel twisted his arm so that he could watch the cat’s reaction.  


What he hadn’t expected was for Kali to snatch ‘her familiar’ out of his hands. Keeping a tight hold on the ginger tom who was now giving everyone in the small living room murderous looks, Kali paced the four corners of the room chanting an incantation for protection from prying eyes and flapping ears. When she was satisfied that the warding was sound, she plonked the cat down in the middle of the room, still with a firm hand on its back.  


“I think you’d best change form, Gabriel. This doesn’t sound like the tale of young star-crossed lovers who needed a little confidence to overcome their shyness around each other.” Kali stood up, her hands on her hips, eyes blazing.  


Castiel could see why Gabriel would find her an ideal companion. Kali would be one of the few people on the planet capable of handling his older brother.  


To Balthazar’s amused chortle, Gabriel reappeared in place of the cat looking contrite. Well, this was Gabriel so maybe not all that remorseful.  


“In my defence, what I said wasn’t entirely untrue – except maybe the young bit. Would younger than us, be a better description?” Gabriel jabbered sending Kali a pleading look.  


Kali graced the wizard with a fond smile, “Tell me the truth - all of it this time.”  


“It’s ok, Gabriel. I’ll tell the story and finish up with where it's gone wrong.” Castiel’s tone was still cold, but his anger was thawing rapidly at how right Gabriel and Kali appeared to be for each other. He couldn’t know the same was true for them as it was for him and Dean and stay mad at Gabriel. “The Goddesses chose one Dean Winchester to be my Geffellflam. Like Gabriel and I originally were, Dean is of Planta Gorllewin. As you can imagine with our society’s view on same-sex relationships outside of Denillen, that news was not the easiest to hear. I adjusted to the idea better than Dean who had a major conniption when the seer Pamela Barnes relayed that part of the divine plan to him. My boneheaded brother had correctly guessed that when the Goddesses plans for us were formally confirmed that Dean would not react well. Gabriel poured the tonic into the wine we’d been given to settle our nerves after Dean’s overwrought response. Dean became uncharacteristically besotted with me after that point, even organising a betrothal ceremony. Because Gabriel kept denying what he’d done, I stupidly went along with Dean’s plan because it lined up with what we had been told was predestined. Now the effects have worn off and Dean has freaked out. No-one has seen him for…what…it must be…coming up for 24 hours now.”  


“Kali, my sweet goddess, you wouldn’t happen to have any more of that divine honeycomb in the kitchen, would you? I think my blood sugar levels must be running low.”  


Castiel covered his face with his hands. All Gabe could think about having heard what his unilateral decision to help the natural course of things along was his sweet tooth! What had he been thinking, coming here expecting Gabe to offer some assistance in clearing up his messes? Perhaps he should have let Gabriel tell Kali? Castiel was even more stunned when Kali stroked Gabriel’s cheek and headed for the pantry.  


When Kali was out of earshot, Gabriel sidled up to Castiel.  


“Deano-o’s gone missing? Really? Not out on an overnight hunting trip? Not pissed step-daddy off and got himself arrested?”  


“Uh…” Castiel floundered about what to say next. He looked at Balthazar. The silent conversation confirming that Balthazar had not told Gabriel about Naomi. “Not as far as anyone we know is aware of, no. Although…you probably ought to know that Uriel is holding the fort for Zachariah for the next couple of weeks. Our, well technically I suppose my, former stepfather had an unfortunate run-in with mother’s magic. But one thing at a time, eh? Let’s deal with Dean’s disappearance and how you are going to lend a hand finding him…”  


“Then we are going to give him another one of my tonics that will help calm him – only this time we will tell Dean that we are giving him some help,” Kali stated as she reappeared from the kitchen with Gabriel’s honeycomb wrapped in a cloth. “It will take me a few hours to prepare everything. You are welcome to stay. I also understand if you wish to go looking for your betrothed.”  


“We came straight here. We haven’t searched too much of the forest, Cassie. I suggest that we leave Kali in peace to her concoctions while the THREE of us search for Dean. I…uh…I guess if he is out there somewhere, he’ll have stayed away from the usual hunting grounds…”  


Castiel wanted to stay and watch Kali. Although he wouldn’t know if she was brewing what she claimed to be, being there and watching over her felt comforting. Balthazar made a good point though.  


“Let’s go, Cassie. It’s not the most exciting thing to watch – kind of like watching paint dry. I know you,” Gabriel said, “before long you’ll be bored and irritable. Far more you to go charging around the forest on some heroic quest. Hah – Dean is the damsel in distress…”  


Castiel raised one eyebrow at his brother.  


“…you gotta admit it’s funny. See, Balthazar thinks so. You know it makes sense. We find Dean, we encourage him to come back here for Kali to treat him. If not you two stay here tonight, then the four of us set off for Tân before dawn tomorrow.”  


“I’m not carrying you back into the city,” Castiel said dryly. “You wriggle too much.” His gut already told him that they wouldn’t find Dean until he wanted to be found.  


“You won’t have to,” Kali said in a tone that brooked no discussion. “I’m coming with you. Gabriel will be still while I carry him – or else!”  


The look of utter love and devotion to Kali in his brother’s eyes warmed Castiel’s heart. It would be easier for the witch to enter the city openly carrying her familiar than for him or Balthazar to smuggle Gabriel in.  


*************************************************************************************************  


“Boy, you know I ain’t gonna ask ya twice about it. What happened?”  


Dean nursed the overly sweet tea Missouri had given him feeling sorrier for himself than he had in years.  


“…and another thing. Don’t you go getting any ideas about telling me how you came to fall flat on your face out there in the forest without so much as a knife on you and leaving out why you was out there, sugar.”  


Dean pouted, his bottom lip jutting out the inside of it trapped by his top teeth. He glowered into the mug willing it to change to at worst coffee, at best whiskey.  


“It’s tea and all that pretty little pity party you got going on there won’t make it change into anything different, especially not liquor…”  


Dean looked up, but he was prevented from saying anything by Missouri’s ongoing rant.  


“…you drink too much of that stuff. Ain’t good for ya. Now, we both know I already know why you haven’t eaten or drunk anything in two days either. So, do us both a favour and spill.”  


Dean was apparently stupid enough, or still irate enough, not to spot a lost cause when he saw one.  


“Needed time out of the city, that’s all.”  


Missouri tapped her foot on the floor, “Hmm-hmm? That so?”  


“Yes,” Dean snapped. “Can I drink my…ugh…tea in peace now?”  


“All right, we’ll play it the hard way. Why must it always be that way with you, sugar? You drink I’ll talk. Mr Dean Winchester does not deal with emotions, but he’s also a human being and all us humans have these nasty things called emotions which pop up and destroy our carefully planned out existence. You hit a bump in the road and all manner of thoughts and feelings started to make themselves known – about Castiel, about your future as his consort and adviser, what happens if the challenge fails, how is Castiel going to deal with the added pressure of rebuilding his relationship with his mother knowing how Zachariah has treated her.” Missouri stopped to take a sip of tea. “I told that woman not to marry again but she refused to listen to me because status was more important than heeding the warnings of the Gods. Well now listen to me rambling on about stuff that don’t concern you…”  


Dean had the distinct impression that the ‘ramble’ was for his benefit. He kept the thought to himself though.  


“So, you then you went and stepped into the very role that the Gods have laid out for you when you took charge at the meeting. The more you instinctively come to understand how to lead men, the more you make yourself doubt your suitability and your capability. You’ve scared yourself silly knowing you can’t continue to pretend the visions were all bunkum. Am I getting it right so far? Yeah, I know, child. You don’t need to tell Missouri – I got eyes that see both the seen and the unseen. I know things. You stuffed all of it down deep, vowing not to look at it again. Would never have worked – but you know that. What you hadn’t expected was the sudden overnight change in the intensity of your feelings towards your betrothed. Sent you into freefall so you had no idea what was up and what was down and like a damn fool, instead of talking – because Dean Winchester never has the ‘feelings talks’ - you ran away.”  


“Like I said, needed space.”  


Missouri placed her cup on the table and leaned forward tapping Dean’s knee with her finger, “People who need space tell other people who care about them that they need thinking time alone. They don’t vanish into thin air at night with no food, water, or protection and exhaust themselves wandering aimlessly through the dangerous parts of the forest. Just because you didn’t have to restrain yourself around your man anymore for the sake of propriety, did you stop caring about him?”  


Dean’s mouth flapped as he searched for an answer Missouri wouldn’t call him out on.  


“Still not ready to talk, sugar. Ok. You finish up, and so will I. Nothing has changed has it? You want to touch him, to taste him, to spend time with him but you no longer feel compelled to. Hmm hmm? See I told you before I see what the Gods allow me to see of a person’s soul. That applies to you as much as anyone else, Dean Winchester. Your real problem is with yourself. You ain’t mad at Gabriel for slipping something into your wine. You most certainly don’t believe Castiel sanctioned Gabriel’s actions, let alone asked him to do it. Yet somewhere in that brain of yours, you decided that because you got blindsided by a well-meaning meddling wizard while you were in a weak position that you are unworthy of Castiel and the position that he wants you to hold at his side. That about cover it?” Missouri cocked her head to one side, still leaning towards Dean and holding his gaze.  


Dean threw the cup at the empty wall, immediately feeling guilty for the tantrum. “I’ll…uh…yeah, I’ll clean that up.”  


“Oh, hush sugar,” Missouri chided, “you’ll do no such thing. You’ll sit there and cool off, that’s what you’ll do. Then when you’re finally ready to have an adult conversation about all this, I’ll be here waiting.”  


With that, Missouri set about collecting the broken pieces of the mug and wiping up the few drops of tea that Dean had left in the cup. She intermittently hummed and muttered to herself. The muttering was so quiet that Dean couldn’t catch the words, but he expected some of it was Missouri’s irritation with him and his childish behaviour. In an ideal world, Dean would get up and excuse himself so he could go and die of embarrassment somewhere else. Although right now, he had no clue where that would be. He had made such a complete ass of himself that no matter where else he went he’d have to apologise to people for his recent behaviour. He squirmed in his seat knowing that he could put it off for a while longer but, at some point, he was going to have to face them all.  


“You knew, didn’t you? You knew what Gabriel had done at the temple that day. When I came to see you, you saw him do it, the Goddess showed you.” That was the realisation that had been prodding at Dean every time that Missouri declared that she saw things, that the Gods granted her knowledge of past, present, and future events.  


Missouri turned back to him from her place pretending to stoke the fire. “Uh-huh,” was her non-committal answer.  


“Why? Why would you do that? I asked you for the truth! You told me to go with my feelings, to arrange the betrothal. Yet all the time you knew that Gabriel had spiked my wine and that the way I was around Cas, Uffern, even my thoughts about him were affected by that potion.”  


Missouri didn’t say anything. She placed her hands on her hips and fixed Dean with a demanding stare.  


She was expecting him to keep going. What hadn’t he seen yet? Why was everyone so insistent sticking their oar in his affairs all of a sudden? He’d disappointed Missouri enough already, so Dean squashed down the bile rising to his throat. He took what Sam would tell him was a deep cleansing breath and began thinking about what Missouri expected him to figure out about this mess. Dean started to stitch together everything that had happened since right before the Feast of Gwyl Fawryn. The torc that he couldn’t stop looking at. Badgering Sam to use his powers to see Dean’s future. The way Dean’s mind lingered on Cas without his permission. The determination to prevent Zachariah from getting his hands-on Gabriel – mostly for Cas’s benefit. The turmoil over the inevitability of his falling in love with Cas and everything that would mean for Dean’s life. That two of the most revered seers on Neffroen had both confirmed that he and Cas were destined by Branwen and Aerten to be together. How Samuel at the temple of Don and Beli had accepted Missouri’s word and agreed to the rushed and unusual betrothal ceremony because it was the ‘will of the gods’. Dean might have wanted to strangle Gabriel for what he’d done, but he could see how Gabriel could have done it with the best of intentions. Moreover, the trajectory was already set. Dean’s inexorable descent into total adoration and a desire to always stand or fight beside Castiel Novak until his very last breath could never have been prevented.  


All Dean could manage was a quiet, “Oh.”  


“Now you go apologise to that man of yours and beg him to forgive you for scaring him witless.”  


“Yes, ma'am.”  


Dean fully intended on doing just that. Until he got back home to find Cas wasn’t there waiting for him like Dean had hoped he would. Left stewing in his own guilt, shame, and the still-simmering suspicion that Cas must have known what Gabriel intended, Dean sat at the table drinking whatever alcohol he could find. He’d made his way through the dregs of a bottle of whisky and two bottles of wine before he passed out at the table. Cas still wasn’t home.  


**************************************************************************************************  


The door was ajar. Many different reasons for the door not being locked like it had been when he’d left the day before flooded Castiel’s mind. None of those reasons was what he found. Dean head down on the table, with three empty bottles beside him. He rushed to Dean’s side. Thank the Gods he was only sleeping!  


“Dean! Dean, sweetheart, wake up!”  


Castiel gently rocked Dean trying to rouse him from the drunken stupor. He was acutely aware of the audience standing behind them.  


Dean didn’t need them to see him like this. No way was Dean drunkenly asleep on the table how his first meeting with Kali should take place. Castiel mouthed at them to give him some time alone with Dean and was relieved when he heard the door shut.  


“Let’s get you up and into bed. Can’t be comfortable sleeping like this.”  


Dean barely responded to Castiel. He was so uncooperative when Castiel tried getting him to stand up, that Castiel considered asking Gabriel if it was possible to move another person through Hudau alone. Lifting Dean as a deadweight by himself was not possible.  


Castiel managed to hook one arm under Dean’s shoulder, wrapping Dean’s arm loosely around his neck. Dean lurched unsteadily to his feet. Together they stumbled through to the bedroom. Castiel stopped in the middle of the room. Where would be the best place for Dean to rest? Castiel shuffled them in a semi-circle as he surveyed his limited options. The turning movement was too much for Dean’s stomach.  


“Yuck! Oh my Aeron, Dean. That’s disgusting! All right, bed probably isn’t the right place for you.” Castiel propped Dean up against the wall, with his head flopped to one side. “Stay there, I’ll get a bucket and try cleaning us and the floor, ok?”  


Castiel placed the bucket between Dean’s leg’s and carefully worked Dean’s shirt up and over his head. He wasn’t sure that even after it’d had been through the copper wash pot that it would ever be fit for wear again. The house was cool enough that he wanted to drape the comforter around Dean’s shoulders, but if Dean vomited again and missed the bucket – well the least said about what would happen the better.  


Castiel flicked his hands and summoned a mop and another bucket. He’d done an about-turn on when Dean should meet Kali. Dean wouldn’t be happy about it. Castiel could live with that. After the stunt Dean had pulled having a serious conversation about the ‘whys and what nexts’ was a necessity that couldn’t wait until Dean was free from the mother of all hangovers he was going to have. Dean needed a healer’s touch. First, though, Castiel had to make the place look a little less trashed.  


“Urghhhhhhhhhh! What the…owwww…my…what…where’s my…?” Dean blinked. His hands were pressing against his temples. “Oh, Uffern…Cas? Cas? When did…uh…when…”  


“When did I get back? About ten minutes ago,” Castiel retorted. “Went looking for you – didn’t realise you were attempting to drown in booze while I was away. Is what’s on the table all of it? Or…”  


Dean held a finger to his lips.  


“No, Dean,” Castiel was on a roll, unable to stop his anger, worry, and relief all pouring out. “I’m not going to shut up. You went missing. You’ve had everyone who cares about you worried sick. Charlie sat up all night in whatever secret place you two go to ‘think’ in case you’d gone there. I had to calm Sam down and persuade him to do his shifts as normal – he was all for running off to search for you. I dragged Balthazar into every secluded place in the…”  


Castiel’s rant was interrupted by another bout of retching. He waited till Dean sat up and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, grimacing at the stench and the mess. He snapped his fingers and a washrag appeared, he chucked it at Dean for him to clean himself up.  


“Sorry, Cas.”  


“Hmm, we’ll see. Anyway, Balthazar searched the forest but of course, you weren’t there…”  


“I was – well I was until yesterday morning. Please…I need to sleep this off.” Dean banged his head back against the wall.  


“I have other plans, Dean. I brought someone you need to meet back with me from my trip out to Ynyslas. She’s a witch and a healer. No arguments. I’ll get you another shirt then go let Kali in.”  


Castiel ignored the groans coming from Dean when he went to fetch Kali. A few minutes of healing and he’d be right as rain. Whether he deserved that courtesy was debatable, but a tiny piece of Castiel knew that everyone else involved in this farce shared a piece of the blame along with Dean for the current situation. Many of them had suspected what Gabriel had done but had been so blinkered about Dean and Castiel being ‘divine will’ that they’d been eager to turn a blind eye and push ahead irrespective of any damage it could do to Dean.  


Castiel pushed the door open a crack. Balthazar and Kali were hovering just outside talking about the weather and how if he had the choice Balthazar would up sticks and move somewhere like Ynyslas. It was utter bullshit; Balthazar would be bored to tears in a small place like that – no opportunities to bed hop or have his ménages there.  


“It’s ok to come in now. Balth, would you do Kali the honour of entertaining her familiar for a few minutes. I don’t think Dean is up to dealing with a cat right now.”  


Balthazar wrinkled his nose in displeasure, nevertheless he held his hands out to take the ginger cat from Kali.  


“Kali, if we could prevail upon your services again…”  


“Of course, I will do what I can.” Kali looked quickly around to see if anyone was within earshot. “It is no trouble, not after what Gabe did.”  


“You don’t have to clear up his messes, you know.”  


Kali brushed past Castiel and into the house, “I know, but I also feel some responsibility. I know my little ginger tom and the pranks he likes to pull on people too well. He never means any harm by it. I do wish he’d stop to think before he acted though.”  


Kali put one hand over her nose and mouth as she entered the bedroom and snapped the fingers of the other. The room was instantly filled with the clarifying scent of sage. Kali removed her hand, nodding in satisfaction at the change in odour.  


“Dean, this is Kali. She has graciously agreed to help with your hangover problem. I’ll let her introduce herself.”  


Castiel had taken Dean’s soiled clothing and the dirty washrags into the kitchen when he heard the outburst from the bedroom.  


“Sonofabitch! He’s here? Let me at the little asshole!”  


So, that went well! Kali had dropped the bombshell that Gabriel was back in Tân. Probably came better from her than him, he told himself without any remorse at taking such a cowardly step.  


************************************************************************************************  


He could count to ten. It wasn’t a difficult feat and one that he’d mastered over twenty years ago. However, it was currently beyond him. If he could, Dean would have preferred to kick the mangy moggy curled up on the hearth. Then maybe he’d kick it again for good measure - if it was at all possible, he’d kick it over the city wall. Cas was right, Kali was right, and he’d already admitted yesterday that Missouri was right. The end result to all this, if Dean put his fears aside and listened to his heart, was always going to be this – him and Cas together. The root of his anger was that Dean wasn’t ready to see Gabriel again yet. He forced himself to speak respectfully to Kali. Of all the people in the cottage, she was the least to blame. All she had done was supply a tonic that she would have given to anyone prepared to pay her price – she didn’t even need to know the details, it was part of how she made her money alongside the healing.  


“Thank you for coming and offering to help. I don’t want to appear ungrateful – because believe me I am,” Dean shuffled from foot to foot, “without you I wouldn’t have made it out of bed today. I’d rather you hadn’t brought your furry friend along – I have a cat allergy. I react especially badly to fleabags that stick their feline noses where they don’t belong.” Dean looked daggers at Gabriel. “I know you mean well, but I really can’t accept this other potion. I…”  


Kali interrupted him, “After the last one, you don’t trust what’s in it, no matter how many times I reassure you that all it will do is bring some peace and clarity to you – nothing more.”  


The tense silence lasted a minute until there was a loud knock on the door which Cas answered.  


“Is he here? I spoke with Missouri. She says she found him exhausted in the forest yesterday and took him back to hers.”  


Dean winced as Cas stepped back and waved Sam in.  


“Dean!”  


Before he could duck out of the way, Sam had loped across the room to envelop Dean in a hug.  


“Now, that bit’s done…” Sam took a swing at Dean’s face. His fist collided with Dean’s jaw with a discernible thump. “Now, I feel better – that was from Bobby and Charlie too. Bet Benny will have his own special way of telling you that you were missed – he harangued every shift about whether they’d arrested you or seen you skulking somewhere.”  


That right there was bitch face no.14. Dean rubbed his chin. He shot Kali a baleful glance in the hope she’d zap the sting and inevitable bruise away.  


A chuckling Kali shook her head. She was probably right, he deserved it! So, how come Gabriel was getting off scot-free for screwing him over? If it couldn’t be today, Dean would make sure that the wizard got his comeuppance at some point. He promised himself that.  


“Needed to think. Didn’t want anyone else sticking their oar into my business – been enough of that going on lately!”  


Dean caught Sam turning an entirely different number bitch face on Gabriel. So, Sam had also been suspicious of what happened to Dean after Gabriel’s ‘tonic’. Ever the super-smart one, Sam forwent an attack on Gabriel, turning his attention on Kali instead.  


“Pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m Dean’s brother Sam. I’m guessing that you are the ‘healer’ who supplied Gabriel with that potion? Did he tell you what he intended to do with it?” It was all asked calmly without an ounce of menace, but only a complete dullard would miss that there was a threat buried in Sam’s question.  


“Stand down, Sammy,” Dean ordered his brother. “No point in crying over spilt milk. We got more important things to focus on.”  


Sam huffed relaxing his stance and perching on the edge of the table, but he kept his eyes warily trained on Kali who had squatted down beside Gabriel on the hearth and was petting him.  


Dean looked around the room. Too many people with their attention, if not their gaze, all focused on him and his feelings. It wasn’t a lie when he’d told Sam that there were more important things to focus on than how Gabriel had played him. If he could get everyone focused back onto the upcoming Challenge, they’d forget about his emotional state soon enough. Then he could distract himself with working towards the Challenge in public, while he went away to lick his wounds in private.  


“Cas,” he asked in a tone far more assertive than he felt, “how much does everyone in the room know about Zachariah?”  


His question startled Cas out of some private reverie. “Uh…uh…well,” Cas stammered looking at Gabriel and Kali  


“All they know, “ Balthazar interjected giving Cas a reassuring look, “is that Adler had an unfortunate ‘accident’ that involved Naomi’s Hudau. Finding you was the number one priority.”  


Dean cringed. He really hadn’t thought through how concerned people would be when he took off. A thoughtless selfish asshole – that’s what he was! If he’d screwed up Cas’s chances at a successful Challenge – he didn’t think he could forgive himself. There was more at stake than his own stupid pride.  


“I think, Cas, now would be the best time to tell Gabe what’s really going on here.” He looked at his feet, willing himself to say the next sentence. He swallowed twice. “Then, maybe, Kali and I could have a private discussion…that is if you’re willing.” Dean flashed a nervous smile at Kali.  


“Of course, Dean. Whenever you’re ready,” Kali replied returning his smile with a gracious one of her own.  


He slipped into the space beside Cas. His hand searched out his lover’s and when he found it, he intertwined their fingers. The relief emanating from Cas at the small gesture was palpable, even if his face still looked strained.  


Cas explained what he knew of how Zachariah had increasingly taken his anger out on Naomi over the years.  


Dean bit down on his bottom lip, to stop himself blurting out what Missouri had told him. It wasn’t his story to tell. Not to mention that it didn’t exactly paint Naomi in the best light, ignoring a seer’s warning because of her lust for power. Maybe she’d be as happy being mother to the Priffathro as she had to be the wife of one.  


Gabriel remained tight-lipped throughout Cas’s explanation. It seemed his brother’s words weren’t garnering any compassion from the wizard. If it had been Dean hearing that about his mother, if the tables had been reversed, he doubted that he would have had much time for her either. It wasn’t like Naomi had been a model mother before Charles Novak had been killed. Dean couldn’t blame Gabriel for being indifferent to her plight. Cas, however, was and would need his older brother as much as he would need Dean through the next few weeks. Dean decided it was time to nut up.  


“I think,” Sam spoke up when Cas fell silent again, “now would be a great time for Balthazar and me to get a drink and set a few people’s minds at rest. Coming?” Sam looked at Balthazar, “I’ll even pitch in for the first round.”  


“You had me at drink. Lead on, Sam, the Fellen Fech awaits!”  


Dean loosed his grip on Cas’s hand. He pressed his lips tentatively to Cas’s neck, his emotions settling at the soft sigh that met the kiss. They weren’t ok. Their relationship would take time to find a new footing without Gabriel’s little helper, but Dean knew they would be ok.  


“Kali, the kitchen awaits.” He hoped that giving Gabriel and Cas time to talk in private would be as beneficial as he wanted his time with Kali to be.  


*************************************************************************************************  


“Kevin. Thank you for joining us.”  


The Keeper of the Lore looked like he was about to faint as he stood glued in the middle of the doorway.  
Castiel ushered Kevin into the war room.  


“I’m not used to speaking in front of so many people…”  


Castiel elbowed Balthazar in the ribs. Laughing at the young man wasn’t going to endear him to their cause.  


Balthazar shrugged and whispered, “What! He’s making it sound like we’re expecting great oratory from him, not talking to eight people. Well, technically I suppose its seven people and a flea-bitten moggy. But you get my drift.”  


Castiel gave him a filthy look telling him in no uncertain terms to ‘can it’.  


“It’s ok. Take all the time you need to settle in. No-one here is waiting for you to give any speeches. All we want is for you to clarify for us the rules regarding a Planta Challenge – in detail. I think all of us have a vague idea of what it entails. But I believe some know more than others. If you’re not happy to do that, then speak up now.”  


Kali nodded at him from her position at the far end of the table. If Kevin wanted out, she would perform a ritual to make him forget that he’d ever been in the war room. It was for his own protection as much as theirs.  


Kevin took his seat. He sat with his back ramrod straight, hands clasped firmly together resting on the table. He was the picture of determination. It was obvious that Sam had explained what they believed Zachariah was up to. As a Keeper of the Lore, they had banked on Kevin being outraged that Zachariah’s ambitions went against the very foundations upon which the colony on Neffroen had been founded.  


“There are four parts. The formal issue of the Challenge. The magical trials – a test not of strength, but of each person’s control of their Hudau. The physical trials – in the case of Planta Gorllewin those will be relevant to the skills, cunning and fortitude needed as a hunter and a warrior. The justice trials – will test the wisdom and leadership skills required in the Great Hall and in the Cyngor. Finally, after all those demonstrations, the winner of the three trials must still convince members of the Planta that they are the right person to hold the title Priffathro.”  


Castiel heard Bobby mutter something under his breath about black Hudau and bribery. Castiel guessed that was how Bobby thought that Zachariah had wrested control of the Planta from Roman. From what he’d heard as noble a man as his father had been, Dick Roman’s skills were better and their Hudau fairly evenly matched. That Challenge could have gone either way. Zachariah Adler, however, should never have bested Dick Roman. Not without resorting to unconventional methods – most of which Castiel was sure his mother could have provided. Thinking about that only served to fuel his wrath – his mother may have done the wrong thing in her lust for position, but that lowlife filth, Zachariah Adler, had repaid her assistance with abuse.  


“Err…there’s…um…one more thing that I should mention before we get into the nitty-gritty or what each stage entails. It’s…um…”  


Castiel observed that the colour had drained from Kevin’s face. The Keeper’s eyes darted around the room. He looked like he was about to pronounce…oh. That was exactly what Kevin was about to do – if they failed.  


“It’s ok, Kevin,” Cas said gently. “I think we all already know what you’re about to say. But you do need to say it. We need to hear it from you as part of the sacred law of our people. It’s important that we all know what lies ahead for us either way.” He hadn’t planned to, but at that moment, Castiel knew he would get Kali to use her spell and potion on Kevin anyway. Castiel had no right to ask so much of Kevin.  


“The winner has the right to have the challenger and any of his seconds or key supporters executed. The…the records show…that…well, in recent history…that’s what the incoming Priffathro of Planta Gorllewin has chosen to do. Um…well…I…uh…oh my…how do I…”  


“You just say it, Kevin.” This time Dean stepped in to reassure the nervy Keeper of the Lore.  


“It’s just that…when Adler took over…he went further than the laws state – but what he did wasn’t entirely outside them either. He…well…he went further than just seconds…he…took out almost anyone who’d helped in the run-up to the Challenge.”  


“Yeah, I know. Dad told me as much,” Dean said dejectedly. “Thank you for being honest, Kevin. All right, I think now’s as good a time as any to ask this question. You’ve all heard the Keeper state what the Lore says and what the actions of the two most recent Priffathros have been. Before Kevin says anything more about how this should work, I’m going to give anyone who isn’t prepared for what might happen a chance to leave now. I’m sure there’s a potion or an incantation that can wipe your mind so that as far as Adler or any of his minions will be able to discern, you were never a part of this?”  


Castiel watched in admiration as Dean went around the room, checking each person in the room was fully committed. It took his breath away to watch Dean growing into his role. Castiel was equally as overwhelmed when everyone, even Kevin, declared their staunch loyalty to him.  


“I reckon we have one month – six weeks at most. Now that there’s been an altercation, tensions will be running high, but that also means that Adler’s loyal faction will be on the lookout for any signs of an attack on him. We need to lull them into a false sense of security. You two,” Dean pointed at Kali and Gabriel, “would be better off returning to Ynyslas. We can’t risk anyone figuring out that your familiar isn’t quite what it seems, besides I’m betting that you want some time and space to prepare all the different healing and…uh…other…potions we’re going to need for when the Challenge comes. Balthazar…honestly…I think the best thing you can do…is continue being you!”  
Balthazar shrugged and took a large gulp of ale.  


“If you keep spending your time between here, your shop, and the now frequent trips out of the city – I doubt the Breniol will be smart enough to guess what’s really going on.”  


Castiel rested his elbows on the table, hiding his chuckle behind his hands. “In other words, Balthy, keep paying Ellen’s rent with your drinking and keep your whores and mistresses satisfied in bed with a little help from a friendly witch out in the forest.”  


Bobby blushed. It wasn’t the reaction Castiel had expected from the grizzled old hunter. “I’m sure he didn’t need it spelling out for him, ya idjit!”  
“Kevin, we need to protect you. The best way to do that is to allow Kali to work a little magic. I already spoke with her and while you will remember coming to the Fellen Fech today and will remember meeting everyone in this room, you will have a completely different memory of what happened here. It is for your own safety – not because we don’t trust you. we do.”  


“Yes, Kevin, please believe that we are most grateful to you for taking the risk, and…” Castiel made sure to lock eyes with the young Keeper of the Lore, “for confirming you allegiance to our cause. However, I could not forgive myself if anything happened to you. I would prefer not to have any harm that might befall you on my conscience. If after today we need assistance from you, then we will send a different member of my inner circle each time – and perhaps we could create a code known only to,” Castiel looked around the room calculating the risk to each person. In the end, he plumped for the neutral phrase, “a few of us.”  


Kevin nodded his acceptance of Castiel’s order. It was easy to spot the relief as the tension leaked out of Kevin’s muscles.  


Castiel poured him another tankard of ale with the admonition to, “drink this! It’ll take the edge off.”  


“OK, now that’s over. Kevin when you’re done drinking. I think it’s time you gave us the full low down on each of the challenges.”  


************************************************************************************************  


“You can’t keep avoiding me forever, Dean. Needing space is ok. Moving back in with Sam is perfectly fine. What isn’t acceptable is hiding from me and refusing to talk.”  


Dean kept his back towards Cas. He’d apologised. He’d done everything that Cas had asked of him since Cas had found him passed out at the table. He had thrown himself wholeheartedly into the detailed planning. He’d even been to the Houses of the Lore when he wasn’t working to study so he could prep Cas for the leadership challenge. Uffern, he’d even done some research on how to make his speech as Castiel’s primary second more impactful. He wasn’t avoiding him. It was that they were both busy and with Dean now back living in the Winchester family house that there was little time to see Cas.  


“We have to discuss what happens now. You tell me that we’re all good. You claim that you’re not renouncing the betrothal – I even see you carrying the lavender bag around with you. The problem is something fundamental changed and the bedrock of our relationship shifted once we all became aware of what Gabe did. Trust was broken on all sides. ALL sides, Dean. How can we repair that if you won’t spend any time alone with me?”  


Cas had a point. Damnit, he always had a point when he started one of these “We need to talk” conversations. In Dean’s opinion, talk was cheap. What mattered most was what a person did, not what they said. If a person could back up their words with matching actions, then their words held weight. Until that point, it was all simply hot air. If his actions over the last week hadn’t been enough to prove that he was sorry or that he was as serious as ever about them, then Dean had no idea what else there was for it.  


Dean took a shuddering breath. He’d promised Missouri he’d make it right with Cas. He willed himself to turn around. Instead, he marched out the door without a backwards glance at Cas. The melodramatic part of him needed Cas to chase after him, but his common sense told him that the stoic Cas wouldn’t stoop so low as to beg him for anything in public. Didn’t stop the little pang of disappointment when the cottage door stayed shut behind him.  


Dean didn’t wander far, not ready yet to go back and face Sam’s questions. There’d be another round of forcing Dean to talk. If he owed anyone a conversation, it was Cas. He walked the couple of blocks to the small open space. The early evening light filtering through the row of trees that marked its edge. Ignoring the chill from the ground underneath him, Dean sat with his back up against one of the trees as he stared up at the last of the sun’s red-orange glow. He kicked his left heel into the grass. Unsurprisingly, Dean got no satisfaction from the divot he left behind.  


“Hey,” came a soft voice from behind him.  


“Hey,” Dean croaked out in reply. Instantly he regretted the petulant desire for Cas to dance to his tune. “Could do with a little time to me.” He was too ashamed not only of his actions but also the lack of a solution for bridging the gulf between him and Cas to be ready to talk.  


“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Who knows where you’ll end up this time?”  


“Not a freaking child, Cas!” Dean snarled.  


Dean heard the rustle of fabric against bark as Cas slide down the tree-trunk. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean could see Cas’s boot.  


“No-one is accusing you of being one.” Cas’s voice was calm, not rising to Dean’s grouchiness. “Just don’t like the idea of you wandering around in the depths of the forest with no supplies or weapons and with all your attention focused on whatever is going on in your head, not your surroundings. You’re too important to me to let you put yourself in that kind of danger again.”  


Dean wanted Cas to yell at him. Maybe even take a swing at him for being such a lousy partner. The compassionate caring response was harder to deal with.  


“I think we need to talk about what you’re afraid of or so angry about. But, if you’re not ready, that’s ok. I’m not going anywhere, I’ll wait. Right now, I’ll just sit here quietly with you. I won’t say another word. I won’t press you for any answers, or any contact, ok? We’ll be alone together. Can you accept that?”  


“Not got any choice, have I?”  


“Oh, Dean! You always have a choice. What matters is whether you make a choice that is in your best interests or not.”  


Dean shrugged in defeat. “You can sit there. Doubt me saying no would stop you anyway. You’d probably go sit at one of the other trees and keep an eye on me from there, stubborn ass like you!”  


Cas snickered. It was a sound Dean hadn’t heard in too long. “Got me there, Mr Obstinate.”  


Dean whipped his head around. One look at Cas sticking his tongue out at him and Dean threw his head back and roared with laughter. Touché. Irresistible force versus the immovable object. “Go sit by that bush over there,” he giggled pointing to the prickly shrub bordering the other side of the open space. “It’ll give me something pretty to like at while I brood.”  


“As you wish, Dean,” Cas scrambled to his feet and gave Dean a small bow before doing what he was told. “On one condition, you come give me a kiss when you’ve finished moping. I’ve missed them.”  


Dean watched the exaggerated sway of Cas’s hips. He would deny until his dying day that he licked his lips at the view. He simply needed to wet them. It had been several hours since he’d last had a drink and they were dry. That was all. He had to agree about the kissing thing. The last time they’d locked lips was…Dean racked his brain. The day of the fiasco at the Great Hall. There had been a few affectionate touches after that night. They shared a bed from that night until Dean had bolted like a skittish colt. He could only remember once when he’d planted a kiss against Cas’s lips, cheeks or forehead since his return, but not once had he allowed Cas to return the favour. Aeron he was pathetic!  


Dean closed his eyes. He rapidly opened them again when the only image he could see was a furious Missouri wagging her finger at him. He could almost hear her voice ringing in his ears chewing him out for his cowardice. Dean remembered some of what she’d told him about himself:  


“Nothing has changed, has it? You want to touch him, to taste him, to spend time with him but you no longer feel compelled to, Hmm hmm? See I told you before I see what the gods allow me to see of a person’s soul. That applies to you as much as anyone else, Dean Winchester. Your real problem is with yourself…you decided that...you are unworthy of Castiel and the position that he wants you to hold at his side.”  


He imagined what she would say now:  
“What you still afraid of, boy? You telling me that Aerten and Branwen got it wrong? Is Cas an idiot? You really think so poorly of him, sugar, that you believe he would choose to spend his life with someone so far beneath him as you insist on seeing yourself? Don’t be so stupid, child! Talk to your man! Behave like a grown-up instead of a sulky child. I know that the Gods don’t play cruelly with us for their own enjoyment. No matter what you think. They put you two together, you’re meant to choose to stay together. Now shoo!”  


He was certifiably insane! Allowing a scolding Missouri, that he’d created in his mind, convince him to swallow his dignity and apologise to Cas was proof of it. Nevertheless, it encouraged Dean to leave his not exactly comfortable spot to go give Cas the kiss he’d demanded.  


“Somebody,” Dean said using his most seductive tone, “said they’d been missing something.” He parted his lips, making sure the tip of his tongue poked out, then he licked the pad of his thumb and slowly dragged it over his lips. “You want it? Better come catch me.” With that Dean scampered off, repaying Cas his teasing walk with an attention-grabbing sashay of his own.  


He’d not made it five steps before Cas tackled him from behind and swung Dean around to face him, his arms gripped tightly around Dean’s waist.  
“Going somewhere?” Cas asked.  


Dean had intended to make it back to the house, but Cas’s teasing was too much temptation for him. Dean captured Castiel’s mouth in a bruising kiss before he could utter another word. Dean kissed Cas until Cas pulled back and laid his head on Dean’s shoulder - panting. His breath puffed against Dean's neck.  


“Home?” Cas asked still trying to catch his breath. “We really should take this somewhere…”  


Dean didn’t let Cas finish. It was as though Cas’s touch had flipped the dial. All thoughts of their argument had evaporated. Sense, and the city’s public decency laws, be damned – Dean wanted Cas here, quick and dirty, however he could get it. The look of Cas’s kiss-swollen lips sealed the deal.  


Dean grasped Cas around the back and yanking him flush against him once more. Unfortunately, Dean unbalanced Cas.  


Too desperate to get his hands on more of Dean, Castiel couldn’t regain his balance. The two men tumbled to the ground. Conscious that they were out in the open, they shuffled their way back to the nearest tree, their lips surprisingly still locked together.  


Cas deepened the kiss, entwining his tongue with Dean's, clutching desperately at the back of his shirt.  


Dean moaned and returned the favour, running his hands down Cas's chest, thrusting slightly against him.  


Cas canted his hips, brushing their two growing erections. With a growl, Cas shoved Dean’s shirt up out of the way.  


“Come on! Come on!” Cas fumbled with the button on Dean’s pants so that he could get his hands on Dean properly.  


Dean grunted, his hips twitching at Cass touch. He tore at Cas’s clothing, frantic to wrap his hand around Cas’s erection.  


"Gods I need you, I needed you all day..." Dean rasped being the one to break for air first.  


"You too...need you always," Castiel replied huskily, his free hand grabbing at Dean's neck, holding him closer. Castiel inclined his head and nipped…  


“Hope you weren’t planning on going any further than that, gentlemen? You do know that by order of Priffathro Adler that the Open Spaces are closed to all Tân’s citizens after dusk?  


Dean rolled off Cas into the dirt beside him, shamefaced at having been found in such a compromising situation when Cas’s house was only five minutes away. All their good work at keeping their betrothal a secret undone by Dean’s penchant for throwing temper tantrums and being impetuous like a spoiled brat. Hastily they righted their clothing and sheepishly peeked up at the unknown voice.  


“Oh, thank Aerten it’s just Benny…Hey brother, what’re…Oh…Uffern!” Dean caught sight of the second man hidden behind Benny’s bear-like stature. Dean winced at the thought of what ought to happen next. Although if the Gods were on their sides enough that it was Benny on patrol through the open space, then there was hope that they’d make it out of the situation without repercussion.  


“You’re lucky it’s me and Sol found you. Leave him to me. I’ll bring him around to the cause. He’s got an open-minded streak a mile wide and…well, let’s say that he has a history with Adler. Now, take those heart eyes and wandering hands back home – don’t care which one. Don’t want to know either.” Benny had his mouth set in a thin disapproving line, but the amusement at finding his two friends in a compromising situation shone in his eyes.  


Dean jumped up to his feet, holding a hand out to help Cas up. Cas grabbed Dean’s wrist, but he was laughing too much to hold on properly and slipped back down to the ground unwittingly pulling an off-balance Dean down on top of him.  


“Come on, Sol. Let’s leave the lovebirds to it. They ain’t drunk and they ain’t harming anyone else. Other than me! We can squeeze a quick round or three in somewhere when the shift ends – I need to unsee what I just saw!” With that, Benny walked away, Sol tutting and muttering about indecent behaviour by his side.  


*********************************************************************************************  


A week later, Castiel locked up his shop early. Naomi had always said that three was a significant number in the language of the Gods. Things always happened in threes. Good or bad it didn’t matter, but if something life-changing was about to happen in your life, then the Gods would send you three signs. It had happened when he’d met Dean. It had happened right before Zachariah disowned him. The three events didn’t have to happen in the same day or even the same week. But if they were a forewarning that life as you knew it was going to change, the Gods would make sure that you took notice of their messages. The turn-around in Dean’s mood that night in the open space when they were interrupted by Benny and the other guard. That it was Benny confirmed the incident as a sign. Had it been any other pair of guards, the evening could have ended differently. That had definitely been a sign from the Gods.  


All day he had been prickly. Not the usual bad mood day. No, this day had been one with a sense of foreboding that no amount of rationalising would chase away. Castiel had been busy too. He had made good sales. He had done some design sketches, and he’d even prepared some moonstones to shape and polish over the next few days. The unease persisted. So, he’d taken the opportunity to close early. He would go find Dean who had been on an early shift. Spending time with his Anwyld would lift his mood. Castiel headed for the Fellen Fech, the most likely place to find Dean.  


“He’s out the back helping Ellen shift some barrels,” Jo called out.  


Castiel knew that his face was heating up. Was it that obvious that he was here for Dean? He stood silently observing the way that the sweat made Dean’s shirt cling to the muscles of his arm and chest.  


“Snap out of it and help him!” A rag whipped across his shoulder. “He’ll be finished quicker that way – then he’s all yours,” Ellen prompted in his ear, too low for Dean to hear them.  


“There’s pie involved in this isn’t there?” Castiel asked shouldering his way out of his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.  


“Something like that,” Ellen laughed. “I’ve saved a cherry apple. Come fetch it before the two of you leave.”  


Castiel did exactly that at the end of the evening. He sent Dean on ahead while he doubled back to the kitchen to get the pie. He had been no more than two minutes, but it had been two minutes too long.  


“Uffern! Dean! Get the fuck away from him,” Castiel screamed, the pie forgotten and dropped to the floor.  


His fist connected with the jaw of one of the men assaulting Dean, the thud of his knuckles against bone deafening to Castiel’s ears. He pulled the other man to his feet, almost tearing the collar…Castiel heard the rasp of material ripping.  


Dean scrabbled to find his feet. Unsteadily. He swung blindly. Instead of hitting his opponent, Dean narrowly missed Castiel. Connecting with nothing.  
Behind them there was a commotion. More feet thundering against the pavement. Voices yelling. Coming to their rescue, or coming to help Dean’s assailants?  


“Bastards! ” That was Bobby.  


Castiel turned his attention back to the two men. They’d got over the shock of Castiel’s involvement and were about to launch into Dean again. A lightning bolt? No! A starburst. Disorientate them, not harm them. Castiel tried. Nothing. He tried again. Still nothing.  


A streak of light whizzed past him. A clap like thunder erupted into the air.  


Castiel tried one last time with the starburst. It worked. Tens of tiny stars light up the sky around them. For the first time, he got a good look at Dean’s attackers.  


“Aaron Sardar! Paul Grange!”  


Like deer in the headlights as Bobby called out their names, the two men froze. Only to run away the second the light from the starburst faded.  


“Get him back in the bar, Cas. Ellen can clean him up.”  


“No! I’m good. Don’t need fussin’ over. I’ll go home, get some sleep, and be right as rain in the morning.”  


“You may not need fussing over, as you put it. But I’m not letting you stumble through the streets on your own – humour me.” Castiel set his face in what he hoped was an expression that would dissuade Dean from arguing.  


Dean huffed.  


“If Cas wasn’t here,” Bobby threatened, “I wouldn’t be taking no for an answer. If I say Cas is looking after you, Ellen will accept it. She’ll be grumpy, but she’ll let it go. If I was to let you just wander off on your own – both of us’d get it in the neck from her. Now take the easier option.”  


“Thank you,” Cas mouthed at Bobby.  


Dean staggered forward, not as all right as he claimed.  


Against his instincts, Castiel didn’t rush to steady Dean or wrap an arm around him. Far better to wait for the stubborn idiot to admit he needed help than fight him every step of the way trying to convince him.  


Dean made it ten paces before he stumbled again.  


Castiel can’t stop himself. He reaches out to steady Dean. “Lean on me if you need a bit of support. Just till you get your bearings again.”  


With a weak smile that Castiel deemed gratitude, Dean slung an arm over Castiel’s shoulder. It took them double the time it should to walk from the Fellen Fech to Castiel’s, but at least no-one else bothered them on the way. The knowing looks from the few people they passed didn’t appear to be anything more than an assumption that Dean and Castiel were drunkenly weaving their way home.  


Dean didn’t need any encouraging to go sit by the hearth. There was no fire as Castiel hadn’t been there since he left for the shop that morning. However, Castiel soon rectified that with a couple of snaps of his fingers.  


“Hey! Don’t waste Hudau on me,” Dean blustered, even though he was already warming his hands in front of the growing flames. The house wasn’t cold, but the shock of the attack would make Dean feel the slight chill more intensely.  


“It’s no problem, Dean. All part of me taking care of you.” Castiel offered Dean a half-bow before he scurried away to cobble together some medical supplies. Gods know the last time he used any of it. He either didn’t bother or went straight to a healer. No way was Dean going to do the latter after the protests outside the bar, so Castiel would make do with whatever he found.  


“Doesn’t seem to be much. A few bruises, and you scraped your palms when you fell. Best tell Sam to keep an eye on you tonight just in case there’s anything else.”  


Dean drew Castiel in close, placing his hand over Castiel’s mouth. “Stop fussing. I’m good. Like I said before, after a good night’s sleep I’ll be right as rain. Don’t need any of that stuff…” Dean pointed at the meagre collection of supplies, “just a few more minutes here by the fire with you should settle everything nicely.”  


“Oh…right…um” if Castiel had understood Dean correctly, his upstairs brain really didn’t think it was a good idea. His downstairs brain had other ideas. As a play for time Castiel had begun to put away his first aid supplies when they heard heavy footfalls outside the door and a disconcerting thud. Before either of them could get to the door, the footsteps hurried away.  


Cautiously, Dean opened the door, “Uffern! What the ever-loving Aeron is…”  
Castiel rushed to the door – his third event. Ironic too. Lying semi-conscious on his doorstep was his mother with a note pinned to her chest:  
“Apparently you are the main priority in her life, the son she abandoned, not her husband. I thought that the two of you should be together. So, here she is. If you don’t want her, don’t bother sending her back to me.”  


Castiel didn’t have any option but to make sure Naomi got the care she needed. If he turned her away in this condition he’d be no better than Adler and would have no business issuing the Challenge.  


“Is it safe to move her?”  


Castiel shrugged. “Adler’s thugs didn’t do this right outside my house, so moving her another few feet to my bed probably can’t do her more harm.”  


“Ok, let’s get her more comfortable then I’ll go get one of the healers.”  


Between them, Dean and Castiel carried Naomi into the bedroom.  


Every time the jolted her, Naomi moaned piteously.  


Once they had made Naomi as comfortable as they could Dean headed for the door, “I’ll go find Anna. She already knows the situation between your mother and stepfather…”  


“…and about us, I suspect, knowing Ms Milton’s powers,” Castiel finished Dean’s sentence while he plumped the pillows for Naomi, again. Hurry back, please.”  
Dean was back with the healer within ten minutes, taking her directly into the bedroom.  


On examining Naomi, Anna quickly pronounced, “I believe that whoever did this used Hudau limiting cuffs and collar but kept using an enchantment to gradually tighten them. If Mrs Adler struggled against the collar, she would have been making things worse – literally strangling herself. Then for good measure, she’s taken a few blows, or I suspect kicks, to the ribs. They’re badly bruised but not broken from what I can tell. There are a few burn marks too – can’t say for sure what made them, but they’re not a magical injury. Someone has deliberately held something hot against her skin.”  


“She’ll…she’ll…be…o…o…ok?”  


“Yes, Castiel. Nothing about the physical injuries that I can see is life-threatening. Her mind? That might be a different matter. From the scars I found alongside the fresh burns – this isn’t a one-off, is it?” Anna stared at Castiel like she was searching his face for the answer.  


“No, I don’t believe it is. She hinted to me a while back, before she attacked Zachariah at the Great Hall, that he ‘took things out on her’ if they didn’t go his way.”  


Anna put her hands on her hips, and cocked he head to one side, “Do you intend to keep standing by and letting this happen to your mother?”  


Castiel swallowed down the snarky response on the tip of his tongue about Naomi’s track record, but…but…he couldn’t allow her to be in danger anymore. She’d helped him. Castiel wanted to believe that she was trying to do better, that Naomi was genuine in her declarations of wanting to rebuild their relationship. He couldn’t put her in any further danger.  


“Would she be ok to travel? A trip to the country to recuperate, perhaps?”  


Anna considered the question for a moment. “Yes, it would be uncomfortable for her, but then breathing is uncomfortable right now. I’ll give her something for the bruising and pain. Dean, I’ll give you some for the shiners on your face too. Not even going to ask how you got them – no don’t argue with me. I know you and Sam try to manage every injury yourselves, but for once let someone else help. Don’t worry, I’m not charging either of you for tonight – don’t you argue either Castiel. You paid me handsomely enough last time. Now, those ribs of your mother’s will be what’s going to trouble her the worst when she comes to, but they’ll take their own sweet time to heal, nothing much we can do to speed that up. If the carriage is comfortable and takes plenty of stops along the way, Mrs Adler should be able to make a journey…where did you have in mind?”  


Castiel knew exactly the right place. Naomi might argue that her brother Cain’s estate would be the perfect place to recuperate, but Castiel’s choice would be better for everyone in the long-run.  


“Please, Dean. On your way home would you send a messenger to Kali. Tell her that my mother is injured but well enough to travel. I doubt that Kali’s ginger tom will like it, but…” his voice cracked.  


“I know.” Dean soothed, rubbing small circles with his thumb on Castiel’s back. “We’ll get her to Ynyslas ok, Cas. Kali will take good care of her.” Ignoring Anna who was still clearing away her equipment, Dean softly kissed the crook of Castiel’s neck.  


Drawing a chair up alongside the bed to sit by Naomi’s side through the night, a solemn Castiel announced, “I’m going to the Forum, the Keepers, and the Great Hall tomorrow as soon as Naomi is on her way. We can’t wait any longer. I will issue a Challenge to Zachariah to be answered at the Gwydion Circle in two weeks’ time.”  


*************************************************************************************************  


“Welcome one and all! Over the next three days, we will pit these two competitors against one another in a battle of Hudau, Skills, and an understanding of how to fulfil the more political role that falls to the Priffathro of a Planta. On the third and final day, we will have a winner. It will then be up to you, members of Planta Gorllewin, to decide whether to accept the winner or whether the role remains empty until another wishes to contest for it. All but two tasks shall take place here at the Gwydion Circle. For those tasks which occur outside the circle, the winner of that task shall appear before you to declare their victory back here at the circle.”  


Ibrahim paused to let the chatter die down. Cas bit on the inside of his cheek as he peered between the flaps of his tent at the assembled throng. He would have been foolish to think that a formal Challenge would not attract so large a crowd. What Castiel had not anticipated was the energy that a crowd metaphorically baying for blood generated. If there was any truth to Gabriel’s claims that Hudau could be strengthened by harnessing the energy of others, today was the day Castiel needed to master the art. If only channelling that energy could conquer his nerves. If he had to wait much longer, the contents of his stomach would end up on the floor for some poor soul to clean up while he completed the first task.  


“Before I introduce the two men who will be locked in competition for the duration of the Challenge, it falls to me to remind you all that these tasks are for the contenders to complete alone. No interference is allowed – not even from their Seconds. In keeping with the Lore of Neffroen, interference in the outcome of a Challenge will render you subject to arrest with a maximum penalty of death if you are adjudged by a jury of your peers to have used black Hudau to influence the Challenge in any way.”  


Castiel swallowed hard. Ibrahim’s words chilled him to the core. He had no intention of relying on anything other than attempting to use the crowd’s energy to bolster his own. He had rejected Kali’s offer of tonics to help keep him calm and focused. He would meet Zachariah and beat him by his own skills and talents alone, or not at all. Whether Zachariah’s intentions were so honourable was a matter of conjecture. Castiel wasn’t inclined to give his stepfather the benefit of the doubt. If he was right in his suspicions, there was only one possible order Castiel could give if he beat Zachariah and was elected Priffathro – he would have no choice but to condemn him to the same fate Zachariah had condemned Dick Roman. The knowledge that he would have to make that decision weighed heavily on Castiel’s conscience, but he didn’t have the luxury of being side-tracked by it. He had a Challenge to win.  


“Our challenges today will test magical ability. What level of Hudau do our contestants possess, and how well can they control it?”  


Another theatrical pause. In the silence, Castiel heard a commotion from the tent beside him. Zachariah was fighting already? With someone else? Right before the Challenge started? The noise finished as abruptly as it had started following a bellow of rage that Cas recognised as his stepfather commanding someone to give him what he’d asked for.  


“Now to introduce our participants and get the Challenge started. First, the man who issued the Challenge, son of a former Priffathro, stepson to the current Priffathro, and Master Gemsmith – Castiel Novak!”  


Castiel walked out onto the raised platform. The sea of faces swam in front of his eyes, but he pushed down the rising panic, counting his breaths until they evened out again. While he had struggled to find his composure, Ibrahim had introduced Zachariah who took to the stage with practised ease.  


“For the first challenge…”  


Castiel let Ibrahim’s words flow over him. He knew that the first challenge was creating a weapon using Hudau. The time it took the Most-High Keeper of the Lore to explain to the throng crowding the arena would be better used observing Zachariah. The poise was a front, or he’d been using something to cover up his nerves. Castiel gleaned a little satisfaction from noticing the veins popping out at the side of Zachariah’s neck. He was as apprehensive about the Challenge as Castiel.  


“Master Adler will go first.”  


The crowd gasped in appreciation as they watched Adler step forward and begin whirling his hands around, sparks flying in the air accompanied by a whooshing sound. Piece by piece, much in the same way that Castiel would have made it without magic, Zachariah created a small dagger with a functional leather-bound hilt.  


Castiel forced his shoulders away from his ears. He could relax into this. He’d done this plenty of times as a child when Michael or Lucifer had denied him a toy sword or bow when they pretended to play war. With the benefit of knowing what Zachariah had manifested, Castiel could concentrate on creating a weapon that would beat the small dagger. Chanting the words his mother had taught him, Castiel screwed up his eyes and called to mind a picture of what he needed. He drew the shapes with his hands, seeing the metal and leather forming and layering in his mind. Once he had the design finished in his imagination, Castiel raised his voice to shout the final commands and with a flourish of his hands a long-sword and shield appeared. Trial one was his.  


This next one they had to do side by side. There was no chance to observe how the other was doing, or what their score was in comparison. Creating and controlling magical firepower was a trick that Gabriel taught him. Presumably, an ability inherited from their mother if her show a few weeks ago was anything to go by. Castiel speculated that after Naomi’s very public attack on him, the memory of that humiliating experience would weigh on Zachariah’s mind. Would that affect his performance? Could Castiel find a way to use the incident to his benefit?  


“Would the two competitors please take their places behind the shooting line? For this task, each man will have five attempts at creating fireballs or lightning bolts, as preferred, using their Hudau and directing the resulting weapon at the target. The targets are set 25ft away in the middle of the circle. I kindly request that for your own safety, you all remain behind the ropes.”  


The crowd had been separated into two halves to create a pathway between the platform and the targets. Behind the targets was empty space to the edge of the circle, in case either of them overshot.  


Castiel stepped confidently up to his mark.  


Zachariah lagged, the colour draining from his face. The nature of the trial shouldn’t have been a surprise. So, he was rattled.  


If Castiel could maintain his air of assurance, he stood a good chance of getting further into his stepfather’s head. Do that and he would have another trial in the bag. Turned out that it was more difficult than Castiel remembered. Yes, he had practised whenever he could get far enough away from the city not to cause any damage if things went awry, or be spotted, but it clearly hadn’t been enough. Castiel summoned up the image of the Dean’s bruises and the injured Naomi turning up on his doorstep. The memories stirred up enough strong emotions to make the creation of the fireball flow. Controlling it to hit the target took all Castiel’s mastery. Somehow, he managed to land all five shots within the target with two bullseyes.  


A floundering Zachariah only managed to hit the target twice. One failure fell short of the target and the other two twisting in mid-air and landing wide of the target, almost over the ropes keeping the crowd back.  


The sun was now high in the clear sky making the circle moderately warm until a gust of the early summer breeze brought a coolness to the temperature. Two trials down. Both his. The third one was set for the whole of the afternoon. Castiel considered this last trial of the day with trepidation because using magic alone to find things had never been his strong point. It was also the perfect moment for Zachariah to do something underhand while they were not under the watchful eyes of the priests and keepers. Bobby and Dean sat in his tent with him, urging him to force down a few mouthfuls of Ellen’s stew. Any other time he would have wolfed it down and gone back for another bowl. He made three spoonsful before his stomach rebelled. In an extraordinary feat of restraint, Castiel kept the food down. He pushed the bowl away declaring he couldn’t eat another bite.  


“I know you can’t help me, but seriously Bobby – where the hell do you hide in this city? Somewhere it’s easy enough to get to in say – like 20-30 minutes?”  


“I got this!” Dean answered in Bobby’s stead. “You’ll have to make use of those thick muscular legs of yours.”  


Bobby coughed, “Enough!”  


“Uh…yeah…right…um well, I’ll whisper it ok?” Dean pressed his lips to Castiel’s ear. “The gatehouse…before you say it isn’t exactly hidden, I mean the run-down disused part behind the portcullis. No-one in their right mind goes there – or rather no-one goes there when they’re in their right mind. ”  


“Thank you, Dean. That was…that was most enlightening. Now I’ll know where to find you when you run-off spooked again.” It was good to share some levity with Dean and Bobby before he had to play the adult version of hide and magically seek. “You two better leave before the call comes. I believe finding either of you still here could arouse suspicions of illegal assistance being provided to a challenger. We wouldn’t want that to ruin our chances, would we?”  


Bobby and Dean took the hint. Dean glancing regretfully over his shoulder as he pushed through the flap. If Castiel read him right, Dean had wanted to stay and, truthfully, he wanted Dean to stay. However, they could ill afford the other accusations likely to arise if Dean stayed and they were found entwined in one another’s arms.  


Too wound up to remain in the small canvas square, Castiel slipped out the back. He hadn’t mastered a Gabriel level of glamour yet, but he could create a passable misdirection. Five minutes not penned in the tent or being gawped at in the circle was all he needed. When he crept back in the way he’d gone out only seconds before the priest came to collect him, he did feel better.  


Encouraged by the success of the misdirection, Castiel used it again when the trial commenced, and he ran off to Dean’s hiding place at the gatehouse. Over-confident, Castiel charge straight past the turning that would have taken him to his destination. He pulled up quickly when he realised that he was heading for the garrison door, not the gatehouse.  


“Stupid. Stupid. Stupid,” Castiel swore at himself for the mistake. Immediately he spun around sprinting off back the way he’d come, this time remembering to dart left at the junction. He couldn’t screw this up, Dean had given up his hiding place for him. Castiel had to win.  


He bolstered the misdirection while he stood and examined the gatehouse. Where was the entrance to the part that Dean used? Surely, he didn’t climb up through the portcullis? It looked big enough for a grown man, but there had to be a more concealed entry point? Castiel was still searching when he had the distinct impression that someone was standing behind him. He looked back over his shoulder. There was no-one there. Castiel was certain that someone brushed up against him. The sensation was too like when Gabriel had come to his betrothal ceremony under a glamour for that not to be the answer. It was puzzling that Zachariah had found him so quickly, but there was little doubt in Castiel’s mind that he had. Castiel reached into his pants’ pocket. He had designated the burlap bag the target for Zachariah to locate and take from him using his Hudau. The bag was gone, and with it Castiel’s hope of establishing a commanding lead on day one. The score was two to one, rather than the three to nothing he had wanted.  


“In the lead. Still on track.” Those two sentences reverberated around Castiel’s mind hours later as he sat listlessly at the table in his cottage. Across from him, Dean was repeating a similar litany to buoy his spirits. Losing the magical location trial had been no surprise – what had been unexpected was the speed with which his opponent had found him and spirited away his betrothal bag.  


“Come on.” Dean stood up holding his hand out to Cas. “Let’s get some rest. You did great today, Cas. You’ll do well again tomorrow – you’re younger, faster, and stronger than him. He hasn’t picked up a sword in years.”  


Castiel, it seemed, didn’t have the strength to argue with Dean. He took Dean’s hand, following him through to the bedroom. He only put up a token protest when Dean efficiently undressed him and held open the blanket for Castiel to climb into bed. He totally ignored both of their rules for Dean staying over when Dean slipped into the bed beside him and drew him close into his arms. Safe and warm, Castiel drifted off into a dreamless sleep.  


**************************************************************************************************  


Castiel rolled over, his arm instinctively reaching out for the warm body he’d gone to bed with. There was nothing there, only cold sheets. Dean had left at some point after he had fallen asleep.  


“Uffern!” he grumbled, pulling his arm back and turning over. Castiel lay in the dawn light reflecting on what was on the cards for the day. He reflected on Dean’s words of comfort. Dean had spoken with such conviction that Castiel wanted to believe that it was true that his youth would give him an advantage over the older man. How often Zachariah practised his fighting skills hadn’t occurred to Castiel during his preparations, perhaps it should have? Whatever, all he could do was his best…and steel himself for Zachariah to flout the duel’s safety protocols. His time in the Phabells had stood Castiel in good stead for being in the middle of a fight. Balthazar had taught him to anticipate other people’s movements and quickly create offensive and defensive strategies to survive. Castiel also had the innate skills of a warrior coming as he did from a long line of them. Plus, what training he’d received as a young child expected to grow up into one of Nefforen’s warriors. Zachariah wasn’t used to struggling for anything. When he couldn’t get what he wanted easily, he tried to find a way to circumvent whatever, or whoever was stopping him. Castiel reminded himself that this Challenge would be the time that ploy failed Zachariah Adler.  


Castiel hauled himself out of bed and performed his morning ablutions. There was no point taking the time to make tea, he could ask for some to be delivered to his tent at the Gwydion Circle. Food, of course, wasn’t an option with his churning stomach – no matter how much he tried to tell himself he needed to eat to keep up his mental and physical strength.  


Castiel shoved his hands into the jacket pocket. Keeping them out of sight meant no-one could see them trembling while he walked to the Circle. To his surprise, he found a slip of paper folded up in one. It was from Dean telling him that he would be in Castiel’s tent at the Circle & wishing him luck for Day 2. He was going to need it.  


Exactly as promised, Dean was waiting for him in his tent.  


“Hello, Dean. I missed you this morning…as I do every morning when I wake up to find you not curled up against me.”  


“But,” Dean held up his index finger, “I didn’t forget your inability to function without three cups of strong tea. I reckoned you’d come straight here – not bothering to stop for tea or food. Not even you can face another gruelling day battling that bastard Adler without food or tea.  


On the side table were a steaming pot of tea and two pastries. Gratefully Castiel poured a mug, downing it in two gulps. The first pastry clogged his throat. It tasted of nothing…well, it might be more accurate to say that Castiel did not taste any of the sweetness or the spice. It was fuel for his body, nothing more.  


“I…thought you might manage to swallow those down better than anything more…substantial. I’m allowed to help you dress and put on the necessary protection and markers for the duel. I get to be a ‘proper’ Second to you – like I would have been if you’d ever been called to account…uh…before they outlawed duelling of course. Although, I…doubt…that anyone would ever have cause to do that to you…but oh, the excitement of it…the honour to be the one…”  


“Dean, you’re rambling. I’m the one who should be nervous – not you. You never need to be a ‘proper’ anything for me. It’s you…the real you…I am interested in having by my side – no matter what that is.” He placed a soft kiss on Dean’s cheek. How had this man grown so much so quickly? Only a few days ago, Dean had been running away and hiding. Now he was acting as Castiel’s rock. The sure, certain place in Castiel’s life that he could rely on through the Challenge. It may only be three days, but it might as well have been a year for the way that the days dragged, and the weariness eat away at his soul. Snatching even one or two minutes with Dean revived him enough that he mustered the resolve to continue.  


“Right. Hoping to distract you…and me…I guess.” Dean chewed on his index finger.  


“You do. So, Mr Winchester would you do me the formal honour of acting as my Second for this duel and accompanying me to the piste.”  


“I’d be honoured, Cas.”  


Dean helped Castiel into the duelling suit and attached pouches of dye to the white suit. A strike with the blunt rapier that broke through the fabric and released the dye would score a point. Three points and the round was yours. The first man to two rounds would win the duel. Suitably dressed, they waited for their cue in Ibrahim’s speech before Dean led Castiel out to the platform.  


“Welcome back, my honoured friends. Today we test out participant’s physical skills as a warrior and a hunter. This morning we ask whether they can wield the sword in a manner worthy of a Neffroen Warrior in a best of three rounds duel. This afternoon we send them on a hunt through the city. The first to return with the prize wins.”  
Ibrahim waited for the cheers to die down, then explained the rules of the duel.  


“Would the Seconds please come forward and choose the weapon for their contestant to use.”  


Castiel held his breath as Dean walked up to Ibrahim to collect the rapier. It was another thing that Castiel was thankful for. The weapons they would use today were provided by the Keepers. Neither he nor Zachariah could influence how the rapiers had been prepared, nor could they know which one of the three on offer their second would choose. The practice gave Zachariah a way to influence the outcome.  


In the end, Castiel won two rounds to one. It had taken him longer than it should to settle, and Zachariah had surprised him by winning the first round fair and square. However, once Castiel found his stride, he could move faster, and he was more agile. Castiel had learned to wield the sword the way an Uchelwr could and he had learned how to fight dirty as an urchin in the Phabells. This training paid off giving him a broader knowledge of how to thrust, feint, and parry than he would ever have learned as an elite within the Planta.  


Next would come the hunt for a statuette of the god of the hunters, Cernowain, which had been hidden somewhere in the city. Castiel would use tracking skills, assess evidence and reason out what the clues meant to find the prize. When the time came to submit himself to the hunt preparations, Castiel stoically held his hands out for the young priest. This time the cuffs weren’t there to hurt him, although the end result that they prevented his Hudau was the same. It would do him no good to dwell on the last time the binding cuffs closed around his wrists and the collar snapped tight against his neck. If he did, Zachariah won. Castiel would hand the Challenge to him on a platter irrespective of what the physical scores said. Once Zachariah got inside Castiel’s head, Castiel would lose the mental game, even if he won the right to lead the Planta.  


Castiel hooked a finger inside the collar. The priest had fastened it with more than enough room to breathe, yet it was suffocating him, choking him.  


The young man gave him an apologetic grimace. “It’s on as loosely as I can fix it and still have it be effective, Master Novak. I wish I could make the bindings more comfortable for you. I realise that after the…incident…at the Great Hall…that wearing Hudau binders wouldn’t be the easiest things for you to endure – but,” the young man continued quietly, “you must endure…for all our sakes. I pray that Aerten blesses you and Cerridwen grants you sight beyond sight today.”  


Castiel bowed his head in thanks. He took three deep breaths to steady himself, then walked out onto the dais to hear the instructions for the afternoon’s hunt.  


The trail led him through twists and turns through several districts of the city. There were dead ends in the merchant districts. There were tracks which appeared to go in two directions. Frustrated, Castiel stopped and perched on the edge of a fountain back in the Forum district. Slowly he turned each clue over in his mind. It had to lead somewhere where it would be easy enough to hide a small golden statue of the God Cernowain.  


“Aeron! The Helfrach storehouse. The treasury storehouses. Of course!” Castiel jumped up and bolted off to Tân’s treasury storehouses. Never having thought he would have the need he hadn’t bothered to learn which storehouse was which. When no better solution sprang to mind, Castiel decided to try each of them in order until he worked out if there was some order to how the storehouses had been named. Each door he came to was padlocked and protected by a magical seal that prevented the casual thief from entering. Ibrahim had given Castiel and Zachariah a note before they left the Gwydion with a jumble of words. Cryptically, Ibrahim had told them when and how to use them would become clearer during the hunt. It was the password to remove the seal.  


Castiel was working on deciphering the order of the words when he heard the blast of the horn and then saw the burst of red lights overhead. Zachariah was already back. It was strange that all the seals were intact if Zachariah had beaten him to the Helfrach storehouse. Perhaps his stepfather’s working knowledge of the city’s finances had given him a head start over Castiel on this hunt, and he’d charged straight for the storehouses.  


A dejected and puzzled Castiel trudged back to the Circle. His defeat in this trial obvious from the galling sight of Zachariah standing centre stage clutching the statuette to his chest.  


Another day down. Only one to go. The score was too close for comfort. If he believed that the gods would intervene on his side, Castiel would pray for divine intervention on the final day. Why had Gabriel convinced him that this was the right thing to do? He had been comfortable in his old life. After tomorrow his life might be over – for good. That thought motivated him. Although he had worked hard on learning the laws and customs, more work on them wouldn’t go amiss.  


“Would it be improper for me to suggest that we all retire to the Fellen Fech?” Cas asked the small group of people gathered in his tent? “More room to breathe. More ale for those of you that can indulge.”  


There were murmurs of agreement all around, except Benny who had some duties to perform. While they were walking to the bar, Castiel dropped into step beside Bobby.  


“Can I ask a favour?”  


“Sure.”  


“Would you go through some practical instances from your experience that might help me tomorrow?”  


“My pleasure, Castiel. What I know I’ll gladly share, but I ain’t a great leader, and I’m a grizzled old hunter, not a warrior. Not sure I can help you much where those things are concerned.”  


“On the contrary,” Castiel countered getting the response he’d expected from Bobby, “with respect, you’re older than the rest of us. You’ve seen more. You were around the last time we had to defend ourselves, so I’m guessing you have some stories from that – not the stuff the books want you to know, but what happened in people’s lives. How did decisions of the Cyngor and Gorllewin’s Priffathro affect them.”  


Understanding flooded Bobby’s eyes. “Yeah,” he said with a wry smile, “I got a few stories about that.”  


“Great. Thank you, Bobby. Err…one other thing…can you find a way to keep Dean occupied tonight. I expect he’ll want to help, but…um…I…”  


Bobby finished his sentence for him, “think he’ll be more of a hindrance than a help? Yeah, I’ll get Ellen to commandeer him to help out for the night, Leun knows we need help with Ash and Alex out of town.”  


Castiel and Bobby spent the next several hours in the ‘war room’. They went over and over Bobby’s knowledge until Castiel thought he could see how to apply the requirements set out in the books in real-life situations. They were still going when Benny rushed through the door.  


“Castiel! I came as soon as I could, cher. Zachariah’s cheated. At the Challenge that is! I was on patrol at the Circle during clean-up. They did tell you that they go into the participants’ tents overnight didn’t they?”  


“Not that I remember.”  


“Huh. That explains the stupidity.”  


“Spit it out, boy!” Bobby ordered.  


“Right, yeah. The priests found traces of black magic and outlawed potions in Zachariah’s tent. Ibrahim declared that the Challenge must go on to its conclusion. Only once there is a winner can any action be taken against him. Seems stupid to me. If he’s cheating, then why don’t we hop straight to voting you in? But hey, what do I know? I ain’t a Keeper of the Lore.”  


“The requirements of the Challenge must be completed as laid out. If Castiel doesn’t win fair and square, then he’s not proved himself worthy of the vote. At least, that’s the way I remember it. Not that there’s ever been a situation like it in centuries.” Bobby said. “You know what that means if you win, Castiel? If it’s true?”  


Castiel knew it was. How his stepfather had beaten him to the statuette clicked into place. The door had been locked because Zachariah had used black magic to retrieve the image of the god. Zachariah had done the same thing in the magical hide and seek too. That was how he had found Castiel so quickly. Castiel knew he would have only one option if he was voted Priffathro. He nodded grimly at Bobby.  


**************************************************************************************************  


Dawn of the third day of the Challenge came all too soon for Dean. The overcast sky complimented his mood. He wanted the comfort of a warm Cas next to him, but his bed was empty. Of course, it would be. That was what they had agreed upon at Dean’s insistence until after the Challenge. They’d failed a couple of times, but last night Cas had been adamant that Dean would be too distracting for them to be alone. Dean grudgingly admitted that him pacing around like a caged wild beast wasn’t conducive to helping Cas get in the right frame of mind. Cas winning wasn’t the foregone conclusion Dean had anticipated. Adler had fought better than he had expected and his Hudau had been strong enough to clinch tasks he thought Cas would win easily. Dean still fervently believed that Cas would end up the winner With the Challenge being so unexpectedly close, Cas had to do well at the leadership challenge. If he was wound up by Dean, how could Cas concentrate on solving the problems that Ibrahim would pose to the two contestants today? Then there was also the little matter of today being the day when the vote would take place, immediately after the results of the final task were announced. Of course, Dean had worked on what to say when the time came. What was troubling him was that it had never crossed his mind that it would matter so much what either man’s Second would say. Dean stoutly refused to dwell on whether he would change his speech if he had to give it as the losing Second imploring people not to accept Adler as Priffathro despite winning the Challenge. To do so was being disloyal to Cas. Nevertheless, whether Dean liked it or not, his speech would be crucial to the fate of the Planta, not just Cas in a way he had never envisioned it being.  


Dean couldn’t choke down breakfast and eschewed coffee in favour of being at the Gwydion Circle early. The place was deserted when he arrived. Dean walked the perimeter of the circle practising his speech sotto voce until he had it down pat. He knew the right places to pause. He understood the importance of when to raise his voice and when to lower it. He could place emphasis on the words he wanted to hit home with his audience. The one thing he didn’t have under control was his nerves. Being honest, Dean was never going to get rid of them. If Cas were the clear winner and all the signs pointed to enough of the Planta being behind him, Dean would still be nervous when the time came to give his speech. So, when he had to step up to the podium and do his duty for the man who was not only the right choice for the Planta but the man Dean loved, he would do it eagerly.  


By the time Dean had finished, Ibrahim had arrived with his entourage of priests and keepers. Kevin was among them, but he ignored Dean as he went about his duties setting up the circle the way that the Lore demanded for this stage of a challenge. Although Dean would have welcomed a chat with a friendly face, it was a smart move on Kevin’s part. Dean spent an hour dodging the set up or being moved on when he inadvertently got in the way. Irritating though it was, Dean took the tutting and head shaking in good humour, glad that they hadn’t thrown him out until it was time for Cas and Zachariah to get there. Although as soon as they did, Dean was told that he would have to wait this trial out from the crowd. Thoroughly unimpressed, a defiant Dean stole a kiss from Cas in the privacy of Cas’s tent on his way to find Sam and Bobby.  


By the time they came back into the arena, the platform had been transformed again. Instead of the single podium off to the side from which Ibrahim addressed the crowd, there were now three tables and six seats with the podium in the middle. Adler and Cas would sit at the tables either side of the podium, the four judges would determine how their answers matched with Neffroen law and custom. Kevin had told them that the answers needed to show that the participant understood their role as Priffathro and Cyngor member and could make a balanced judgement with, where necessary, the enforcement of appropriate consequences.  


Cas had studied. Kevin had provided him with copies of the law and treatises on how a Priffathro should act. Dean had studied with him, not that he was good at taking in book learning, but if he was to act in his role as Consort he’d need a good understanding of these things himself. So, why wait? When he’d quizzed Cas on different elements, he’d gained a good grasp of it, as far as Dean could tell. Yet, Dean was concerned that Zachariah had an advantage having made the decisions for real for a long time now. Did knowing something from having read it ever trump real-life experience? He dared to think that in the case of a man like Zachariah with an overinflated ego it might.  


Over an hour and a half, Ibrahim read out four questions. The first focused on maintaining law and order among the civilian population. The second about leading the warriors in defence of Neffroen. The third dealt with matters of internal organization and regulation within the Planta. The fourth probed how a contestant would handle working with the other members of the Cyngor for the peaceful running of Neffroen. After each question had been asked, Cas and Adler had time to consider and write down their answer, which was then collected and placed on the judges' table. Once all four questions had been answered. The judges began their deliberation in hushed tones, still seated at their table. Cas and Zachariah had to remain at theirs until the winner had been declared.  


The wait was agonising. Dean watched alternately chewing on his lip and biting his fingernails as the judges asked for books of lore to be brought to the table. Seeing the animated discussions taking place over passages from the books made Dean increasingly twitchy. Could he have overestimated Cas’s ability? As the deliberations continued, Dean’s toe tapped in time with the drumming of his fingertips against his thigh. How long did it take?  


“Sam,” he hissed, “how long do these guys need to work out Cas is going to have given more considered answers than that Neanderthal Adler?”  


Beside him, Sam was the picture of composure. “I don’t know. You getting all huffy about it won’t make it happen any quicker.”  


“Did Kevin say anything about what happens during the process? Anything at all that’d help?”  


“No! Now if you can’t stop fidgeting, can you go backstage to Cas’s tent and wait there…Oh…wait...hold on! There’s movement.”  


Bobby cuffed Sam and Dean round the back of the head shutting them up with a surly, “Quiet, idjits!”  


Ibrahim took centre stage on the dais. Cas and Zachariah stood on either side of him like prize-fighters awaiting the judges’ decision. From the slope of his shoulders and the downcast gaze, Dean guessed Cas wasn’t confident in his answers. Dean’s heart jumped to his throat. Instead of tapping his fingers, now he was twisting them, willing his features to show anything other than worry – in case Cas looked his way.  


“Both contestants have shown a comprehensive understanding of the laws and customs of Neffroen. In fact, the answers they gave to three of the questions were so comparable that they were adjudged to have tied. The remaining answer was scrutinised for any sign that either showed a deeper understanding of the nuances of our ways, rather than simply giving us a correct answer…”  


Would he hurry up and get to the point? Dean was all for putting on a good show, but did it have to be dragged out in this way? Who gave a monkey’s about how they’d got to a decision – tell the people the decision already! Put both sides out of their misery.  


“The winner of this final trial and the overall Challenge is Castiel Novak.”  


Cas hurried off to his tent as the crowd erupted in a cacophony of cheers and some jeers. Dean went after him. They had some time between the end of the trials and the Seconds’ speeches, he could afford to spend some time to keep Cas calm. Of course, that was a ridiculous thought because Dean’s heart was already racing, his palms were sweaty, and he didn’t think he’d be able to string two coherent sentences together that weren’t part of his speech. But it was his duty and Dean never shirked his duty. He also had an inkling that Cas was about to have a meltdown over whether although he had beaten Zachariah, he had won over enough of the Planta to claim leadership of it. Winning the crowd over wasn’t all Cas’s job, a good part of that rested on Dean’s shoulders. He had an hour to convince Cas that he had it covered. Easier said than done.  


**************************************************************************************************  


Dean stood back from the podium. He couldn’t recall one word he’d said after “Duty, Honour, Courage, and Family”, but he was glad that he had known the speech back to front and hadn’t needed to think about it. He had done everything in his power to encourage the Planta to make the obvious choice. Bobby, Benny, and Sam were beaming at him. Dean took the smiles as a sign that they thought he’d done a good job. They would only know if that was true after the count. Before that though, Uriel had to make his plea that Cas was not the right man for the job. A risible thought in Dean’s opinion. According to Kevin if the vote were a tie, Ibrahim, Josiah, and Myrddin would have the final say based on the will of the gods. Dean regretted playing things by the book. He would have preferred the certainty that as the winner of the three previous stages that Cas would be declared Priffathro. Who would have helped him though? Pam, Missouri, and Sam would all have refused. He could imagine what all three would say – the had already given Dean the answer when he came looking for one about his relationship with Cas. None of them had ever suggested anything other than Cas as Priffathro would be the will of the gods. People, however, were fickler than the gods. Dean knew that to be true – whatever the gods and goddesses might will, individuals could choose a different path. It was the knowledge that divine will could clash with free will that made him doubt.  


Dean was so lost in his existential crisis that he missed Uriel’s speech. Whatever Uriel had said it had been short and to the point. When Dean focused on the podium again it was Ibrahim standing there not Uriel.  


“Would the contestants and their seconds please exit to their respective tents,” the Most-High Keeper of the Lore requested with a sweeping gesture at Cas and Zachariah.”  


Cas looked composed until they were alone together. That was when Dean noticed that Cas was shaking. He slipped in behind his betrothed, wrapped arms around his waist and rested his chin on Cas’s shoulder. “It’s all over soon, my love. You won. Zachariah can’t hurt you anymore.”  


Cas snorted. “Didn’t you hear what Uriel said?”  


“I was too wrapped up in my own world. Guessing it wasn’t good?”  


Cas stiffened in Dean’s embrace as if willing the tremors to stop. “Dean, let go of me.”  
Dean dropped his grip watching with a sinking heart as Cas turned to face him, the dread etched on Cas’s features disturbed him.  


“He reminded people that I am no longer of the Planta, that I have not trained in its ways since I came of age. He…” Cas’s voice quivered, “issued a formal Challenge to take place immediately if the Planta votes not to recognise me as Priffathro.”  


“That won’t happen.”  


“It might. I’m not up to another three days of this, Dean. I can’t.”  
Dean agreed. He wasn’t sure he had the wherewithal to go through the Challenge again. If he couldn’t do it as Cas’s Second, he could understand that Cas wouldn’t be physically or emotionally up for the task. From somewhere in the depths of his being, Dean found certainty. Uriel had played into their hands. The first part of Uriel’s speech was correct about Cas’s lack of experience. Dean could see how some members would share that concern. That wasn’t the part of the speech he hadn’t heard that gave Dean hope. Uriel should have left things open. To declare himself a Challenger was a stupid ploy, especially when Dean knew how disliked Uriel was among the other hunters.  


“You won’t have to go through it again, Cas.”  


“How can you be so sure? He’s given those who weren’t convinced an option. It’s not like if you don’t take the Novak there’s nobody to lead. Uffern! There’ll be guys who’ll want to vote Uriel’s way just to get another three days of free entertainment at our expense.”  


“No. No, they won’t. People hate Uriel. They see him for what he is – a boot-licking turncoat only good for taking other people’s orders. He’s never done anything that hasn’t been self-serving. He does whatever is the best bet for keeping him in a position of importance. He’d have been better leaving the ‘if not you, who’ option open. Don’t think about the worst-case scenario. It’s not gonna happen. Now, before you start trying to argue with me, I can think of a much better way of occupying your mouth.”  


“Is that so?” The twinkle that Dean loved so much finally returned to Cas’s eyes.  


Instead of Dean leaning in to kiss Cas, Cas beat him to the punch with a brief, passionate kiss.  


“Better?”  


“Much,” Cas said, cheekily. “What else can we do while we wait?”  


Dean suggested, “keep doing that?”  


“Not sure I’d stop at just kissing you.” Cas stroked Dean’s jaw where the bruises were turning yellow, before planting a peck to the tip of his nose. “I’d rather not start whatever comes next in a compromising position, as delightful as what causes that position might be.”  


Dean bowed and, in imitation of his anwyld, said, “As you wish, Cas. A drink instead? I made sure to have some of Ellen’s special ale brought here in case we needed a little loosening up.” Dean poured two tankards from the pitcher on the table in the corner and handed one to Cas.  


An eternity later, one of the Keepers made his presence known outside the tent. “We have the result, Master Novak. If you would please return to the podium for the official announcement.”  


It wasn’t the landslide victory that Dean desired for Cas. Well over a third of the Planta had voted against Castiel and a handful had taken the option not to vote. Although as Sam had whispered at the time the vote was being counted, most of those directly opposed to Castiel were older or had been known to be one of Adler’s favourites. Some they’d win over in time. Others would perhaps always be hostile to Cas. But that was the way humans were, Dean mused. He would do his utmost to help the doubters see what he knew deep within, that Cas would be good not only for the Planta but for Neffroen.  


Dean was utterly spent. He wondered how long he was expected to stay at the Circle with the well-wishers. He was hanging on by a thread. Getting Cas to this point, along with all their betrothal issues, had taken all his strength. He knew he’d done well, but he needed some respite to acclimatise to the new life they’d just been thrown into. There would be more hard work to come, especially for Cas, but Dean wanted him all to himself for a few hours. Uffern, scratch that! Dean wanted Cas to himself for a few days. He was considering the pros and cons of suggesting that Gabriel and Kali swap houses with them for a week when Kevin sidled up to him.  


“Castiel still needs to deliver a verdict on Zachariah and his Seconds. It must be done today. The Lore states it has to be this way.”  


Dean sighed. He’d talked this over with Bobby and Benny. He’d cajoled Sam into seeking the will of the Gods, more than once – just to make sure they got it right. Castiel had refused to talk about it. He had declared thinking about it would distract him from the more important preparations for the Challenge. At the time Dean hadn’t thought much about it. Standing here watching Castiel surrounded by members of the Planta eager for favours from their new leader, brought the stark reality of what should happen to Zachariah to Dean’s consciousness with a shudder.  


“Oh, and…er…one more thing,” Kevin jabbered, “as Castiel’s Second it is up to you to plan with the High Priests for his installation.”  


Yet another requirement of a role he still considered himself unfit for.  


“It really has to be me? Planning isn’t my thing, you know?”  


“Well, there’s no law against you getting other people to help you,” Kevin offered with a cheeky smirk. “However, you have to be the one making the final decisions and liaising with the High Priests.”  


“So, Cas just gets to come along for the ride, huh? He can turn up on the day, then bingo bango the High Priest does their voodoo and Castiel is Priffathro, while I break my back sorting it out?”  


Kevin patted Dean on the arm, “I don’t think it works quite like that. Nor do I think that Castiel will stay out of the planning process. However, he has much lore, many customs, and books of protocols to learn about taking his place in the Cyngor. He’ll have his hands full with that. You’re the right person for the job, Dean.” Kevin lowered his voice, “You and I both know that the Gods willed it this way. It is your choice now, Dean. Do you accept their command or make your own way at whatever cost that might mean to you and Castiel?”  


Kevin walked away without waiting for Dean to answer him. Dean stood open-mouthed at the way that once again someone had used the ‘will of the Gods’ line on him. Why was it that ‘free will’ was touted as a right for every person that the Gods would never violate? Yet, when it seemed that whenever there was a choice to be made, the Gods always threw someone in Dean’s path who reminded them of what the gods had planned for him. Jo and Charlie were good at planning things. He’d set them and Sam to start pulling together the legal requirements and what would be fitting to make Cas’s installation personal to him.  


In the meantime, Dean had fences to mend and some hard conversations of a way too personal nature to have with his Geffellflam. They’d danced around each other long enough, allowing every damned curve ball life threw at them to distract them. The goddess Aerten certainly had a cruel streak. No easy fairy-tale romance like those Charlie dreamed about for him and Cas. He could imagine Sammy would tell him that all the best things in life required effort. For Dean, Cas was hands down the best thing to happen in his life. It was time to re-write one of the rules he lived by. Apparently, when it came to Cas, Dean Winchester DID talk about his emotions.  


************************************************************************************************  
The last of the crowd finally dispersed leaving only Dean, Sam, Benny, and Bobby. Castiel’s knees gave way under him. The hard earth of the Gwydion Circle a grounding force for him. It was over. Well, the Challenge was over. Castiel was under no illusion that adjusting to his new role would be quick or easy. Thankfully, he had people around him who would support and guide him through the transition. Some of whom he would have to get to know over the coming months. Then he had those who had been with him since the beginning of this whirlwind ride from disenfranchised gemsmith to leading the Planta of his birth. He regarded them as family. Family! After so many years, he also had Gabriel and his mother back in his life. Both free from Zachariah Adler’s clutches and able to do as they wished for once without fear of anyone hurting them. Castiel offered Aeron a short prayer of thanks for granting him this blessing of kinship by blood and by choice. Not since he was a small child had he been surrounded by so many people he cared about and who cared about him. Gods it felt incredible!  


Castiel fumbled in his pocket. There where it was always supposed to be was the small burlap bag of lavender. He regretted choosing it as the target for Zachariah to take from him during the last magical challenge. Having one of his most treasured possessions removed from his pocket without the assurance that Zachariah would return it untampered with had bothered him more than he had anticipated. The bag was a constant reminder of the promises that he and Dean had made to one another. Only, he wasn’t so sure that he’d lived up to his side of the bargain. He kept allowing Dean to hide. Sure, Dean had accepted that he would become the Priffrathro’s wise consort, growing in understanding and ease in the role. Eager to learn and hone his skills in that area as much as he knew Dean had honed his hunting skills. Where Castiel had failed Dean was in permitting him to bury himself in the busywork and indulging them both by luxuriating in the physical side of their relationship. Castiel smiled at how well they slotted together with the little touches, the kissing, and the fantastic sex.  


Enough stewing, Castiel chided himself. Time to spend a few days focused on his Anwyld. Between Bobby and Benny, they could see to things with the Planta. What good was it if they replaced a leader who physically and emotionally abused their partner with one who neglected his? He’d already spoken with Kali. The cottage at Ynyslas was theirs for the week if they wanted it. She’d promised to leave the pantry fully stocked and ward the place so that other than her and Gabe, only Castiel and Dean could enter.  


Stuffing the lavender bag back into his pocket, Castiel stood up. He dusted the dirt off his knees, adjusted his pants, made sure that his shirt was tucked in and tugged at his shirt sleeves and cuffs until they sat how he wanted them. He didn’t bother trying to tame his hair. It always stuck up in every direction possible. Nothing he’d tried had ever managed to successfully tame it. Having repeatedly run his fingers through it while thinking or out of sheer nervous energy while waiting for the count, his hair’s current state would undoubtedly be worse than normal but it was a fruitless exercise to think combing his fingers through it would make him look any more presentable.  


He strode over to where the others had gathered, “Thank you. I owe each of you a debt of gratitude for standing by me these last few months. Bobby, Benny, I have one more thing to ask of you.” Castiel wound an arm around Dean’s waist drawing him in and resting his head on Dean’s shoulder. Dean’s arm snaked its way around his waist in return. “Dean and I have some…catching up to do. We’re going out of the city for a week. Please, would you do me the favour of seeing that my first commands are carried out. You already know what they are. I would also be grateful if you would begin the process of settling the Planta down again after this upheaval. I trust you to work together. Sam…” 

“It’s ok, Cas. I need to concentrate on my work as a seer for a while. I’ve neglected it of late. On that note, if you’d allow me, when you get back - I’d like to discuss my future.” 

Castiel was surprised by Sam’s maturity. He probably shouldn’t have been because Sam consistently behaved differently to how Castiel expected someone of Sam’s age and history to act. Castiel already knew what he wanted to talk to Sam about when he had his feet under the table as Priffathro. He suspected that Sam would jump at the chance to be on his council of leaders as Seer – a position that Kevin had explained used to exist but had fallen out of favour. Knowing the God’s plans had been such a central part of the change in Castiel’s life recently that reviving the role was the natural thing to do. Sam was the obvious choice, as one gifted with seeing divine guidance, while also understanding the ways of the hunter and warrior. 

“Of course, Sam.” 

Castiel felt Dean squeeze his hip. He squeezed back. A small gesture that they agreed about Sam. 

“We’re done here, gentlemen! I would accompany you for a celebratory drink at the Fellen Fech, but Dean and I are leaving right away. Please, have a few for me…and someone make sure Balthazar gets in on the act. Welcome him home to his new Planta the right way.” 

The five men walked out of the Gwydion Circle together. Dodging any stray supporters wanting to congratulate Castiel and on the lookout for any resentful followers of Adler, they ambled through the city’s Forum district. Once they reached the outskirts of the merchant district, they parted company with hugs and handshakes. Sam, Benny, and Bobby went off to find Balthazar, while Castiel shepherded Dean toward the city gates. 

“Come on. I had Balthy organise us some horses and pack us some clothes. They’ll be waiting for us at the gatehouse. No, don’t look at me like that! I know you thought I had my head in my ass about this. I couldn’t afford to think about what happened to the loser, but it didn’t stop me planning what we would do after I won!” 

Dean rolled his eyes at him. “Where we going? If you say to see Gabriel, so help me Cernowain…” 

Castiel placed a finger on Dean’s lips. “We ARE going to Ynyslas, but not to see my brother. There’s plenty of time to dole out his just desserts. I want time alone with you.” Castiel trailed the finger down from Dean’s mouth, over his Adam’s Apple, following the line all the way down to his belt. “Wouldn’t want an audience for what I have in mind for you.” 

Dean’s pupils dilated. Castiel could hear the slight catch in his breath. 

Wickedly he added, “What I want to do with you doesn’t need voyeurs.” 

Dean took a step back, out of the circle of Castiel’s arms. 

Castiel faltered. He couldn’t possibly have misread Dean’s signals. Dean was totally on-board ten seconds ago. What changed? 

“Cas…as much as I want you…we…well…you see…I know I ain’t good with the touchy-feely talking shit. But we need to. Neither of us has got it right so far. We…well…the Gods have given us a responsibility and if we’re going to…um…uh…for their will to be done and…Uffern I’m no good at this…to do the right thing by Neffroen…we must be able to talk…I mean the talk about the really deep stuff of our relationship. It’s…um…I can’t believe I’m actually saying this but…” 

“I know. Talking about emotions, feeling, hopes, and dreams for the future must come before the sex. It’s why we couldn’t do it here in Tân. Too many eyes and ears on us. Are you going to come quietly now, or do I have to drag you kicking and screaming all the way out to the cottage?” 

He tilted his head, one quizzical eyebrow raised. Dean held his hands up in surrender. 

Several hours later, they were lazing in bed exhausted but unable to sleep. Despite agreeing that they’d be more focused if they talked after a few hours rest, Castiel couldn’t turn his brain off. Maybe they needed to start the conversation now, rather than have it hanging over them. Dean deserved to know that. 

“Neither of us was expecting this. Even a causal relationship was the furthest from my mind when I crafted that torc. I knew that at some point I’d regret the decision to keep people at a distance from me. But it wasn’t something I was itching to change when I got the inspiration for the CalonRhodd. All I’d experienced before was that the people close to you get ripped away from you. I wasn’t about to allow myself to go through the pain voluntarily ever again.” 

Dean nuzzled under his chin. “Why’d you never tell me this before?” 

“Because we DON’T do this – talk about the hidden stuff that lays us bare to the other. We’ve spent too long declaring us to be the ‘will of the Gods’ without taking the time to get to genuinely know where each other came from and what makes us tick – emotionally and mentally I mean, not sexually. We’ve assumed too much, Dean.” 

Dean sprang up from his position using Castiel as his pillow. “You’ve been feeling that way too? Like why the blind obedience to creatures we can’t see, who may not even exist? All this talk of free will; of seers’ visions only being possibilities based on our free will. Yet, it never feels like it's our choice when everyone shoves the Gods and inevitable destiny down our throats.” 

Castiel kissed Dean’s forehead, then rested their foreheads together letting the magnitude of Dean’s conclusion sink in. Castiel definitely believed in the existence of the Gods, but Dean had hit on something. Was it always true that when someone pronounced something the will of the Gods, it was indeed a divine proclamation? Could it be that more often than not, what was at play was the human desire to control and manipulate others? 

“You, Dean Winchester, are a genius!” 

“Err…I am?” 

“Yes,” Castiel sat bolt upright, clasping Dean’s hands in his. “You’ve found what I’ve been searching for!” 

A confused Dean stared at him blankly, his mouth silently flapping open and closed. 

“Why!” Castiel exclaimed. “Why me? Why us? The sense that I’ve had that the whole system was rotten. The part of me I’ve been ignoring for as long as I’ve been pushing people away. We abuse the gifts that the Gods give us. They give us glimpses of what could be, a hope for the future, but that’s all it is – hope. Too often it’s seen as done deal, a destination that must be reached as quickly as possible or the Gods will turn away from us. I…” Cas looked at Dean with the hope for the future he’d just talked of in his eyes, “I want to change the way Neffroen operates, Dean. We can do it together. The Gods are a north star, a guiding light if you will, but I don’t think they ever meant us to view them like puppet masters with us dangling on their strings.” 

Dean flashed that dazzling smile which always made Castiel go weak at the knees, his peridot eyes shining brightly in the dim light. “I had this inkling that there was a change coming. From the moment I saw who was willing to stand by you that became obvious. I’m still not sure I’m the right person to help you with this, but I’m willing to try if you are.” 

“That’s all I can ask of you. Thank you, Dean.” Castiel suddenly felt lighter. No talk of any Gods or Goddesses. Just him and the man he loved, who would be his Consort and closest counsel, deciding for themselves. Now he could sleep. “Ready to get that rest I promised you?” 

“Not quite,” Dean said softly. “I know I said before I didn’t want to wait for our handfasting after you won the Challenge? I’ve changed my mind…oh…no not about that, Gods no! I want that. It’s more I think we need more time. Like you said, we’ve barely scratched the surface of what we know about each other. Let’s make a handfasting OUR decision, because we know the good, the bad and the downright ugly about one another and still want to be together, Gods or no Gods.” 

“All right, my love. A traditional betrothal is a year. Let’s take that time to talk, no running away, no burying ourselves in Planta business to avoid the difficult conversations. Although, we will be busy as we learn how to juggle the Planta and the Cyngor along with the other demands on our time – but we agree here and now that being busy is never an excuse not to talk, ok?” 

Dean gulped but nodded in agreement. “A year it is.” 

Castiel prayed it would be as easy as those four simple words. However, he expected that Dean would fight that agreement every step of the way. He knew that. It wouldn’t be a walk in the park for him either, but he’d do his best for Dean. Snuggling back down under the covers, Castiel turned on his side, Dean’s back to him. He drew Dean in close, loving how Dean relaxed into the embrace with Castiel’s arm draped over his waist, as they drifted off to sleep. 

*********************************************************************************************** 

Epilogue 

The August sun beat down on the square behind the Temple of LLeun. A crowd had gathered around the Priest, dressed in his green robes and corolla of myrtle. In front of him stood Castiel and Dean, both dressed in their finest clothes, as befitted the soon to be installed Priffathro of Planta Gorllewin and his Enaidffrind. 

“You look so handsome, my Anwyld,” Castiel whispered. He was entranced with the way that the forest green waistcoat embroidered with golden thread over the simple linen shirt, left open at the neck, set off Dean’s natural good looks. 

Dean unconsciously ran his fingers around the circumference of the torc, its emeralds and green garnets glinting in the late summer sun. “To think that this, this circle of metal and stone started the whole process.” 

The corners of Cas’s eyes crinkled in amusement, “It was supposed to. It was, after all, the CalonRhodd created from the most intimate part of my soul to attract the one Branwen determined I should spend the rest of my days with.” Cas reached out and gently stroked his hand down the side of Dean’s face. 

“You look amazing, Cas. I’ve never seen the cloak of a Priffathro up close before. Someone would never let me get close to it until today – even for their installation!” Dean winked at the love of his life. He cupped Cas’s chin in his hand, losing himself for a moment in the bright blue ocean of Cas’s eyes. “You know, the sapphires in your clasp match your eyes, and it’s all set off by the cornflower blue of your waistcoat.” 

Before Castiel could reply that Dean was a big sap, the priest cleared his throat. 

Dean, Castiel, and all the others present turned their attention to the old man. 

“Welcome to this magical day for Castiel Novak, Priffathro of Planta Gorllewin and Dean Winchester, Free Man of Planta Gorllewin. Last spring some of us here today stood in the temple of Don and Beli as they clasped hands in betrothal, today in front of you their close family and friends they wish to undergo the traditional handfasting to cement those vows for as long as they both live. 

Castiel and Dean, may you always remain beloved helpmates and friends. May your life together be full of kindness, understanding, thoughtfulness and rejoicing. May the years bring you happiness and contentment. May the years bring you into each other's joy with gladness; into each other's hope with faith and trust and into each other's need with the sure presence of love.” 

The priest took Dean’s left hand and put it into Castiel’s waiting left hand. Then, as he wound strips of purple and white striped cloth around their joined hands, he said: “These are the hands, young, strong, and vibrant with love, that are holding yours on your wedding day, as you promise to love each other all the days of your lives. These are the hands that will passionately love you and cherish you through the years, for a lifetime of happiness. These are the hands that will countless times wipe the tears from your eyes: tears of sorrow and tears of joy. These are the hands that will tenderly lift your chin and brush your cheek as they raise your face to look into each other’s eyes: eyes that are filled completely with you over-whelming love and desire for one another. These are the hands that will hold you tight as you struggle through difficult times. They are the hands that will comfort you when you are sick or console you when you are grieving. These are the hands that will give you support as you encourage each other to chase down your dreams.” 

The priest stood back and picked up the goblet resting on the pedestal to his right. He brought it to Castiel’s lips. 

As Castiel took a sip of the strong mead, the priest asked him, “Do you Castiel, in the presence of the mighty Aeron and the other gods of Neffroen swear that you will listen faithfully to the wise and just counsel of your husband and Consort, Dean, for the benefit of Planta Gorllewin and where necessary in the best interests of all who dwell on this planet?” 

“I vow to listen to and to value my Consort’s guidance as he assist me in my role as Priffathro of Planta Gorllewin and as one of the Cyngor of Neffroen.” 

The priest wiped the rim of the goblet on his robe and held it up to Dean’s lips. 

As Dean took his sip of the mead, the priest asked him, “Do you Dean, in the presence of the mighty Cernowain and the other gods of Neffroen swear that you will give Castiel wise and just counsel when he seeks it in matters that concern the rule of Planta Gorllewin and in matters that relate to all the peoples of Neffroen?” 

“I vow to support Castiel to the best of my ability as he fulfils his duty to Planta Gorllewin and the Cyngor.” 

The Priest lifted the goblet up showing it to the assembled crowd. 

“By the authority vested in me by the all-powerful Gods of Neffroen, I declare Castiel and Dean Novak husbands and,” he tipped the goblet allowing the remaining mead to flow over Castiel and Dean’s hands, “that by their declarations here today they are henceforth, together, to be recognised as Bren Masur of all Neffroen warriors and hunters – Planta Gorllewin’s Priffathro and his consort.  


Charlie stepped up to the couple with the biggest grin imaginable, holding Dean’s ceremonial knife. Gabriel followed her bringing Castiel’s dagger, his delight at his brother’s good fortune plastered over his face. Taking their positions beside Dean and Castiel respectively, they carefully cut the ribbons.  


The second their hands were untied, Castiel took Dean in his arms. For the first time, he could kiss the love of his life in public without any concern for propriety and he was going to make damn sure it counted. Castiel leaned forward so their lips touch. Dean kisses back, his hand cupping Castiel’s cheek. Castiel sinks into it and lets his tongue chase Dean’s until their both breathless. They break apart gasping for air to the wolf-whistles and ‘awws’ of their family and friends.  


Will of the gods, or free-will. This world or Annwn. His Geffelflam or simply his Anwlyd. It didn’t matter because finally Castiel had what he wanted. Dean was his – forever.

THE END.

**Author's Note:**

> ...and there it is. I hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I loved writing it (especially Gabriel as a ginger tom and Missouri). I would love to say that I fell in love with these idiots enough to create some follow-on timestamps, but i just didn't. So, this is certainly the end of the road on this universe.
> 
> If you did like it - as you know kudos and comments are life blood to us writers, so please take a couple to make my day. I always try to respond to comments - even if it takes me a little while to do so.


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